


The Schoolmaster

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 07:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ENGLAND, 1829. Raymond Doyle, a young schoolmaster, accepts a post as tutor to a rich man's ward. When he meets that rich man, whose name is Bodie, it turns his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on _Jane Eyre_ by Charlotte Brontë. It has been written with great affection for both original universes, and with tongue firmly in cheek. It does not, I hope, make Doyle into a fainting damsel. At any rate, the original Jane was certainly not. But although Doyle and Jane have certain factors in common, he is, I trust, still himself.

Raymond Doyle gazed up at the high frescoed ceiling of his late uncle's library as he crossed the threshold of the light, airy room. The sight of it never ceased to impress him. He was fond of drawing when the opportunity arose, and his artist's eye caught the subtle brushstrokes that comprised the painted figures far above his head. Now, however, he was heading for the bookshelves, relishing the chance to steal a moment alone, away from his cousins. Two simpering girls and one bullying boy weren't Ray's idea of good company.

He picked out an illustrated book about British birds, and took his little sketchbook from his jacket pocket. Crossing the room to one of the window-seats, he settled himself there, pulling the curtains closed so that he was hidden from the rest of the room. He took the pencil from its loop at the edge of the sketchbook, and opened the book at a clean page. Flipping through the bird book, he found a picture of an eagle and began to copy it, attempting to capture the impression of feathers with a mixture of bold strokes and subtler shading. With pencil and paper, enclosed in the private space he'd created, Ray quite lost himself.

He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't hear the voices in the room until their owners were almost upon him.

'Where is that young master Doyle? The mistress wishes to speak to him!'

 _'I'll_ find him, Gertie. Trust Ray to skulk in corners.'

Ray knew his cousin Frederick would find him soon enough, and he didn't fancy his chances of a quiet afternoon if he didn't emerge of his own accord. He sighed, put his pencil and sketchbook back in his pocket, and parted the curtains.

'Here I am, cousin.'

'Cousin indeed! You should call me Master Phillips.'

'You are not my master,' Ray answered mildly, adding a subtle touch of boredom to his tone -- they'd had this conversation, or versions of it, many times.

'Am I not? When will you realise, Raymond Doyle, that you are a dependent? You're a charity case. You have no money of your own; you pay nothing for your keep. When I am of age I shall be master of this house; therefore I am now your master. What were you doing, hiding in there?'

'I was only reading.' Ray couldn't keep the defiance out of his voice.

'You have no business coming in here, taking our books.'

'They were my uncle's books,' Ray retorted. He could feel himself growing angry. He couldn't help it. 'My uncle stated in his will that I was to be brought up here. Why should I not read his books?'

'Perhaps my father did not know how wicked you are.'

There was an imperious tone to Frederick's voice that made Ray want to strike him. He fought to stay calm, relaxing hands that he hadn't even realised had been clenched into fists.

'I am not wicked,' he snapped. 'What makes you say I am wicked? Was it my fault that my parents died? Am I to be blamed for having no money?'

His voice had risen almost to a shout. Perhaps he should have expected Frederick to hit him, but he didn't see it coming soon enough to defend himself. The punch to his jaw sent him flat on his back. Frederick stood over him and smirked. But he'd pushed Ray too far. A savage kick to the stomach made Frederick double over in pain. Ray seized the opportunity and got quickly to his feet. He should have walked away then, but he was too angry; his reason had deserted him. He leapt upon his cousin, pinning him to the floor. It wasn't often that he had the advantage; at fifteen, Frederick was two years Ray's senior, and a much heavier-set boy. Ray had taken a great many beatings from his bully of a cousin, but he wasn't about to take another one now.

'You say that _I_ am wicked?' he shouted, punching and kicking every bit of Frederick that he could reach. 'You're the one who is wicked, Fred Phillips. Did you think that I would stand being so provoked? No, _cousin,_ you wanted this. We both know who'll be punished, but I don't care, do you hear me? I don't care!'

'Raymond Doyle! Stop that at _once!'_

Ray was dimly aware of the screeching female voice of his aunt's housekeeper, of being yanked backwards, onto his feet. Frederick was struggling to stand up, wailing, accusing, exaggerating his pain.

'You coward!' Ray yelled at Frederick, jerking himself free of the housekeeper and butler, each of whom had had hold of one of his arms. 'You miserable, lying, two-faced son of a bitch!'

Ray saw his reflection in the flash of anger that lit up Frederick's small, close-set eyes. Those eyes were the last thing he remembered seeing that afternoon. He was in such a rage that he didn't see Frederick's hand reach for the heavy glass vase on the table beside him. He didn't even remember the moment when it smashed into the right side of his face. He only remembered lying on the floor, faces swimming above him, eyes streaming with pain. If Ray so much as twitched a muscle in his face, it was agony. It was only a minute or so before the pain overcame him, drawing him down into unconsciousness.

After ten years of making his life a misery, Ray's bully of a cousin had finally, literally, broken him.

* * * * *

There was pain -- oh God, there was pain. The surgeon cleaning the broken glass from the wound, the terrible sting of the alcohol he splashed on to prevent festering. The knife cutting into the flesh of Ray's forehead, taking a skin graft to repair his broken cheek. The insertion of the made-to-measure wax and rubber implant: a foreign object expected to conform to its environment of bone and tissue. But the worst part was when the surgeon stitched him up, not because it hurt more, but because by that time Ray had had enough pain, and a light prick on the finger might well have had him in tears. He'd been determined not to cry out or show any other sign of discomfort. He didn't want to give his adoptive family the satisfaction, especially not that bastard Frederick, of hearing anything from wherever they were sitting, listening, as he was certain they would be. But as the surgeon completed the stitches, Ray lay on his left side, gaze firmly averted, mouth clamped shut against the threat of open weeping, tears leaking steadily from his eyes.

'There there, son,' the surgeon said, running a hand comfortingly through Ray's thick brown curls. 'It's almost over now. Just lie on your back so I can stitch your forehead, now.'

Being the last task, it was the worst. Ray lay back, squeezed his eyes tight shut, and concentrated all his energy on the effort not to scream.

He succeeded.

* * * * *

'It is a quick operation then,' Mrs Phillips murmured from the bedroom door, as with a lantern in her hand she looked in on her nephew. He had fallen asleep at virtually the moment when the surgeon put the needle down.

'Yes, twenty-five minutes at most,' Dr Holland replied. 'The procedure is adapted from an Indian technique for the mending of broken noses. A nose can take as little as fifteen minutes if the surgeon is skilled and experienced.'

'Extraordinary what medical men can do nowadays.'

'As the Empire grows, so does our knowledge, Mrs Phillips.'

'Ah, but I am sure that you and your colleagues have tempered the procedure with a little English civilisation.'

'No doubt, madam, no doubt,' rumbled Dr Holland. 'Now, he's to have plenty of rest while the wounds heal, and laudanum for the pain. I've left some by his bed, so if he wakes in the night he should have a dose of it. I shall instruct your maid before I leave, and with your permission, ma'am, leave the bottle with her, so that she might tend to him without disturbing you.'

'Excellent, Doctor, I thank you,' Mrs Phillips said graciously.

'Now,' Dr Holland went on, 'scarring should be minimal if the face remains free of infection. The mark on the forehead should fade to virtual non-existence. The right cheek, of course, will always be more prominent than the left, but I trust it will not render the boy repulsive to look at.'

'It will do him no harm at all to lose a little of his self-confidence, Dr Holland,' Mrs Phillips replied drily.

'Ah, but he's a brave lad. Natural high spirits of a boy his age, perhaps, but one can confuse arrogance with strength of character. And he is strong, Mrs Phillips. You should be proud of him.'

'But of course I am.' Mrs Phillips' voice was like silk. 'Now, sir, if you would accompany me to the study, we might arrange the payment of your fee. The sum we agreed, and perhaps a little extra for your trouble, driving over so promptly to see us -- and I trust the, um … cause of the accident might not be made known to the world.'

'I am nothing if not discreet, Mrs Phillips,' Dr Holland reassured her. 'Natural high spirits -- boys will be boys -- three sons myself you know, and how they brawl sometimes -- astonishing, is it not, that such young tearaways generally grow up into civilised, useful young men …'

The voices faded as the two adults departed from the threshold of Ray's bedroom. Ray, who had been woken by their voices and chose not to make the fact known, listened to their retreating footsteps and thought about what else he'd overheard. So Aunt Phillips was covering up for Fred, was she? Not surprising. They were snakes, the lot of them, and despite Frederick's violence, Ray knew his aunt was the worst of all.

 _I'll make them pay, though,_ Ray vowed to himself. _One day I shall rise above them all, and then I shall tell the world what they have done to me._

He frowned. It hurt to frown. He tried to relax, wishing Gertie, the maid, would hurry up with the laudanum. If she found him awake he could pretend the pain had woken him. It was certainly _keeping_ him awake: that, and his anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, the phrase 'son of a bitch' _was_ in use in the 1820s. *g*


	2. Chapter 2

Three months passed, and Ray found himself in front of the looking-glass one morning, combing the tangles out of his hair, and realised he hadn't noticed the raised bump on his cheek. The scar on his forehead was just visible, if you looked very closely, but as Dr Holland had promised, it had faded virtually to nothing. Surveying his reflection, Ray thought for the first time that his face didn't look all that bad, considering. He had healed well; his face hadn't developed gangrene and dropped off, so how could one complain?

The reason why he was combing his hair so carefully was because he was under strict instructions from Aunt Phillips -- conveyed via the kinder-hearted Gertie -- to look his absolute best. A clergyman was coming to visit at ten o'clock, and if "that boy" didn't make himself resplendent, Aunt Phillips would call in Johns the gardener and have him lop off Ray's curls with his shears.

'Is it Mr Roberts?' Ray asked, dubiously. He lived in dread of the local vicar, who intoned fire and brimstone from the pulpit on Sundays, glared with black eyes and beetle brows at all the children (even Fred, whom adults usually liked), and always took the last piece of fruitcake when he came to tea.

'Indeed no, Ray,' said Gertie. 'This is a man named Mr Parker.'

'Never heard of him,' said Ray, feeling rather better.

'Now you make sure you wash behind your ears,' said Gertie, bestowing a plump and benevolent smile upon her scrawny young charge.

'I will, Gertie,' promised Ray.

Though he said it himself, Ray considered that he'd never looked more immaculate by the time he'd finished his grooming and ablutions. He descended the stairs with more than his usual decorum, and entered his aunt's morning room determined to make a good impression.

'Ah, Raymond,' Aunt Phillips greeted him coldly. 'I am glad to see you punctual. Sir, this is Master Raymond Doyle. Raymond, this is Mr Parker.'

'Master Doyle,' Mr Parker greeted him. Ray put out a hand, and the clergyman took it with distinctly hostile politeness. He was a tall, red-haired man, whose black attire and white collar made him look taller, and his pale skin even paler. He had a long, slender nose, cold blue eyes and a thin, cruel mouth. Ray felt suddenly timid, which was unlike him. Mr Parker had a way of looking at a fellow that made one feel as if one had done something wrong.

'Good morning, sir,' Ray said, in a small voice.

'Sit down, Raymond,' commanded Aunt Phillips. Ray perched himself on the edge of the nearest armchair. Mr Parker remained standing.

'Now, Master Doyle,' said the clergymen, who now seemed even taller. 'Are you a good boy?'

'I think the less said on that subject the better, Mr Parker,' Aunt Phillips cut in before Ray could reply.

'I am sorry to hear it,' Parker replied solemnly. 'Nothing so tragic as the sight of a naughty child. How old are you, boy?'

'Thirteen, sir,' Ray answered him.

'As old as that?' Parker turned to Aunt Phillips, addressing the rest of his words to her. 'I had thought him younger by the appearance of him. It is fortuitous, ma'am, that you contacted me when you did. There may, just, be time to stamp the bad habits out of him.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said Aunt Phillips, smiling rather nastily at Ray, who was starting to feel confused. Was Mr Parker going to be the new vicar? Or perhaps he was just going to teach Sunday school? Or was he to be a tutor for Ray and Frederick? The longer they were in the same room together, the more Ray wished Mr Parker very far away.

‘Well, young man, I trust there is hope for you yet,’ the clergyman said, still coldly polite. ‘Do you know what happens to the wicked after they die?'

'They go to hell, sir.'

'And what is hell?'

'It is a lake of fire, sir.'

'And should you like to be cast into that lake of fire, Raymond Doyle?'

'I should not, sir.'

'Well. Then you must pray that the Lord might change your wicked heart.'

'I do not believe that I am wicked, sir,' Ray protested. He kept his tone polite, but for all the reaction he got, he may as well have shouted.

'Raymond! You will learn not to answer back,' Aunt Phillips snapped.

'Yes, Aunt,' Ray said meekly.

'Apologise to Mr Parker at once.'

'I beg your pardon, sir.'

'Apology accepted,' Mr Parker said stiffly. 'Mrs Phillips -- are these flashes of temper normal behaviour for your nephew?'

 _Flashes of temper? If that's what they think that was, I'd like them to see a real one,_ Ray fumed inwardly, though he kept his face expressionless.

'I am sorry to say that they are, Mr Parker,' Aunt Phillips replied, with all the appearance of regretting the fact. 'He always was a passionate child. But I fear his worst fault is a tendency to deceit. I have often had to reprimand him for it.'

Ray opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again, knowing that nothing could be gained from trying to defend himself. It seemed that his aunt was doing her utmost, for reasons of her own, to give a bad account of him to this stranger. It was true that sometimes Ray had been accused of lying, but that was only because it was his word against Frederick's, and Frederick was always believed. Ray was not a deceitful boy.

Mr Parker, meanwhile, was looking suitably shocked at the prospect of being faced with a seasoned liar. He had no reason to doubt the word of Mrs Phillips, and he seemed inclined to think badly of Ray.

'We may only hope that a spell at Pinegrove will change you for the better. Do you say your prayers, day and night?’

 _Pinegrove?_ Ray was even more confused now.

‘Yes sir,’ he replied truthfully, though on many days he little knew what to say as he knelt upon his bedroom carpet, hands clasped in front of him as he had been taught from an early age.

‘Do you read your Bible?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘And are you fond of it?’

‘Parts of it, sir,’ said Ray, who liked all the wrath in the Old Testament. He’d rather fancied the idea of being Moses, and had in fact been confined to his room on bread and water for three days when he was eleven, for putting on a false beard and a bed sheet, and setting light to an azalea in his aunt’s shrubbery.

‘Shocking,’ replied Parker, full of righteous indignation that, for all that he felt rather afraid of the man, Ray found quite provoking.

‘I hope, Mr Parker, that the teachers at Pinegrove might be able to do something with him,’ said Aunt Phillips. Ray wondered if she recalled the burning bush incident.

'Oh, rest assured, Mrs Phillips, Raymond will be in very good hands. Simple clothes, simple food, discipline, and the Bible. That is the way of life at Pinegrove.'

 _Perhaps I am to be sent away,_ Ray thought. _It doesn't sound like a very nice place. But surely anywhere must be better than here._

'Then it is settled,' said Mrs Phillips. 'I shall send him to you as soon as possible.'

'I am glad to hear it, Mrs Phillips. I shall write and tell Mr Kirk to expect a new boy.'

'I trust it would not be a problem for Raymond to spend all his vacations at Pinegrove?'

'None whatsoever, ma'am, I assure you,' Mr Parker replied, his voice a self-satisfied rumble. 'Many of the boys do the same. Now, if you have no other questions, I shall take my leave.'

'Thank you ever so much for coming, Mr Parker. Gertie will show you out.'

Mrs Phillips rang the bell. Presently Gertie arrived, and escorted Mr Parker away with her. The moment the door had closed on the clergyman, Ray turned on his aunt.

'Why did you give so bad an account of me?' he demanded. He felt his anger rise, along with his voice, and he bothered to check neither. 'What can you gain from it? You might as well have allowed me to start afresh with no taint against my name, since you are to send me away. I am no liar, ma'am!' he declared. 'You know I am not. If I were I should tell you I loved you and pretend to be contrite so that you might keep me here. But I declare that I hate you worse than any being on this earth, except maybe that bastard son of yours!'

'That is enough.' Mrs Phillips' tone was dangerous, but Ray was too furious to care.

'I say that it is not, madam! You lied to Mr Parker about me. You _lied!'_

'You don't understand how the world _works,_ Raymond!' insisted Mrs Phillips. 'If one's faults are not corrected in youth …'

'Lying is no fault of mine!'

'But you are passionate, Raymond!' Mrs Phillips retorted. She, too, was angry; her lips were white, and her voice quivered. 'You must admit to that failing if you will admit to no other!'

'Cheerfully!' retorted Ray, who was beginning to pace up and down the room. 'And why must it be a failing to express what one feels? I do not see it so! You would rather I had no feelings, perhaps, but no, you cannot think that, or you would lose the pleasure of hurting me. I am glad you are no blood relation of mine. When I am grown up, Mrs Phillips, I shall tell the world how you treated me. I'll tell them it was your son who smashed in my cheek, and that you paid off the surgeon to stop it getting out.'

'You will not be believed,' sneered Mrs Phillips. 'Do you know what it means, that I am sending you away? You're a charity case. You're being returned to the poverty and obscurity in which you were born. You will not taint the good name of this household with your bleatings, Raymond Doyle. You have been a curse on me since the moment you entered my house, but no more. You will live as a pauper and you may well die as one. Now get out of my sight.'

'With pleasure, madam,' Ray said stiffly. 'I don't care a jot for your riches. Perhaps I shall die a poor man. Perhaps not. Perhaps I shall make my own money and stand far above you. Then I shall look down on you and smile. But to be out from under your dictatorial boot is good enough for me. Send me to school by all means, Mrs Phillips, for I hate to live here!'

He stalked out of the room, slamming the door viciously behind him. The sound echoed through the house, and Ray felt a savage satisfaction, and a sense that at long last, some sort of freedom was coming to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, Ray farewelled his aunt's house for what he hoped was the last time. Gertie was the only member of the household he remotely regretted leaving. He suffered her to hug him, wishing he could feel something. He had rarely been touched except in a spirit of anger or cruelty. He did not remember the warmth of his mother's arms, if she had ever held him. Physical contact felt alien to Ray; he couldn't help but be suspicious of it, even when it was clearly meant kindly, as with Gertie. He was relieved when she let him go, and he bade her goodbye, and mounted into the carriage that waited at the gates.

He didn't look back.

By the time the carriage arrived at its destination, it was well past dark. Ray could make out a large pair of iron gates, and a sprawling stone building. The carriage passed through the gates and came to a stop beside a short flight of steps, which led up to a wide, solid-looking front door. In the light from the carriage lanterns, Ray made out a plaque near the door that read: 'PINEGROVE INSTITUTION FOR BOYS.' None of it looked particularly friendly. But then the door was thrown open, and a kindly-looking maid, who reminded Ray of Gertie, appeared on the threshold with a lantern. Ray found himself being ushered inside. Through the barrage of largely incidental chatter, he made out that he was being taken to see the headmaster.

Mr Kirk's study was large and comfortable, pleasantly lit, and warm, especially compared with the dark, chilly corridors through which Ray and the maid had passed to get there. Mr Kirk himself was a young man, slightly plump, with kind brown eyes and a shock of fair hair that he persistently pushed off his forehead, and it persistently fell straight back again.

'Welcome, Raymond,' he said, offering Ray a seat in front of the fire. 'Miss Lomax, will you get along to the kitchen, please, and prepare Raymond a little something to eat? I trust he is hungry after his journey.'

He glanced at Ray, who replied politely in the affirmative, noting that Mr Kirk wasn't treating him like someone with a bad character, and wondering tentatively whether Mr Parker had in fact not passed on what Mrs Phillips had told him.

'Now, Raymond,' said Mr Kirk. 'I understand from Mr Parker's letter that you have had some education while residing with your aunt.'

'My cousin Frederick and I had a tutor, sir,' Ray replied.

'I assumed as much. I shall arrange with the other teachers for you to sit some tests, find out how your level of learning compares with that of your classmates. Have you been schooled in any languages?'

'Latin and French, sir, since I was eleven -- and I have just begun to learn Greek.'

'And what about any practical skills? We have a woodwork master here; do you think you would like to learn that?'

'I should be glad to try, sir,' said Ray.

'And what about outside the schoolroom? What do you most like to do?'

'I am fond of reading, sir, and I like to draw and paint.'

'I should very much like to see your work, if you have brought any with you.'

'Oh -- my folder is in my trunk, sir. I should be glad to show it to you when I am unpacked.'

'I shall hold you to that,' said Mr Kirk, smiling.

Just then, Miss Lomax arrived with a tray, on which was a plate of bread and cheese, a teapot, and cups. On Mr Kirk's nod, Ray ate and drank his fill, then Miss Lomax was summoned again to show him to the dormitory.

* * * * *

Ray was awakened the next day to a loudly clanging bell, and the sound of -- ten? -- no, eleven boys, he counted, getting washed and dressed. He was glad to get up and moving, for he was half-frozen under the flimsy coverlet, dressed only in the thin nightshirt they'd given him. His own clothes had vanished: Ray supposed everyone had to be the same here. Nor did the school uniform offer much protection from the cold. The water they washed in, which stood in basins on a long counter at the centre of the room, was near-frozen, too. Ray flinched as he doused his face.

'Wait till winter really sets in,' said the boy next to him. 'The basins freeze over and we're obliged to break the ice with a mallet.'

'Ooooh,' Ray shivered at the thought, turning to smile at the speaker. He was a tall, slim, sallow-skinned boy, seemingly around Frederick's age, but delicate looking: beautiful, in fact. He reminded Ray of the poet Shelley's portrait. His face was framed by fine, straight brown hair, and his eyes were large, and dark, and round, like a spaniel's. His profile was positively Grecian. His voice was light, almost feminine, but pleasant.

'You're new, aren't you?'

'I arrived last night.'

'Thought so. How old are you?'

'Thirteen.'

'Ah. Pity. You won't be in my class then. I'm nearly sixteen. My name's Henry, what's yours?'

'Er, Raymond. Ray for short.'

'Pleased to meet you, Ray.'

Henry put out a small, slender hand, and Ray shook it.

'I say, you've fine hands,' Henry remarked. 'Did they have a piano where you came from?'

'They did, but I never learnt to play.'

'Well what did you do? You must've done _something_ creative. I can tell.'

'I like to draw,' Ray offered, feeling rather shy in the face of all these questions.

'So that's it,' said Henry. 'As for me, I …'

But then he was seized with a fit of coughing. None of the other boys paid him any mind. Ray watched him in alarm, wondering whether to bang him on the back or something. But then it was over, and Henry smiled apologetically.

'Excuse me. It comes on now and again.'

'Have you been ill?'

'Oh -- I _am_ ill.' Henry's voice was casual, as if he'd long ago accepted his affliction. 'Not to worry. The doctor didn't expect me to see my fifteenth birthday, and I'm still here.'

'But …' Ray began, wondering if Henry would be offended if he asked what was wrong with him. But then the bell clanged again, and Henry gave him a friendly smile and said: 'Come on, Ray. Breakfast. Get it while it's lukewarm.'

Breakfast turned out to be cold, grey porridge that turned solid if you didn't gobble it down fast, and hunks of equally grey, rock-like bread with the merest scraping of butter. The tea, on the other hand, was so scalding hot that you did yourself an injury if you tried to drink it straightaway. Ray noticed several boys add half their tea to their porridge. Henry, however, said that anyone who did that must have gone soft in the head, because the combination of flavours was intolerable.

Ray ate and drank and grimaced and shivered with the rest, yet somewhere deep inside, he felt happy. It didn't matter that Pinegrove was new and daunting, and he was surrounded by more people than he'd ever seen in his life, that it was cold and the clothes were scratchy and the food was awful. He was in a place where everyone didn't hate him. In fact, the people he'd met so far seemed to like him.

His aunt and cousins had assumed he had no feelings -- that he could do without one bit of love or kindness. But Ray couldn't live like that. He'd never have dreamed one could find such things at a charity school, but with the friendly welcome he'd received from the headmaster, the genuine interest Mr Kirk seemed to take in him -- and the cheery figure beside Ray whose cool, bony elbow pressed against his as they ate, crammed onto the hard benches in the big, drafty dining hall -- perhaps some kindness, anyhow, would finally come his way.


	4. Chapter 4

Ray's first three months at Pinegrove seemed to be an endless round of cold, hunger and uncertainty. One of the first things he learnt was that the place wasn't as big as it had looked in the dark, from the outside, but it was old, and draughty. The upper floor contained four large dormitories, each of which accommodated between twelve and fifteen boys, a big tiled room with tin baths that the boys were expected to use once a week, and Mr Kirk's bedroom. The attics contained the servants' quarters, where the two maids and the cook slept, and accommodation for the teachers, who slept two to a room, in conditions only a little better than what the boys endured.

The ground floor contained classrooms, Mr Kirk's study, a workshop for woodwork, the big, old-fashioned kitchen, and the high-ceilinged dining hall with the words "SILENCE IS GOLDEN" emblazoned on the far wall. The dining hall doubled as an assembly hall, where the boys gathered daily for prayers. There was a cold, grey yard where the boys played during their breaks, and there was also a tiny garden with little winding paths, and benches to sit on. Ray liked to go there and sketch, or to talk with Henry Chapman, the boy with the beautiful face who'd smiled at him on his first morning, who was too ill to run around or kick a football with the others.

The weather only grew bleaker, and soon the boys were breaking a layer of ice on the washbasins, just as Henry had promised. Despite being well-fed on his first evening, Ray soon discovered how thinly the school budget was stretched. He also found out, to his disgust, that one of the reasons for a lack of money was that a couple of the teachers took more than their salaries from school funds. They had friends on the board, and it was common knowledge that they took handouts. Not that anyone would have said so out loud … well. _Almost_ anyone.

'Why d'you think Preston and Montgomery can afford to wear silk cravats, when the other teachers are dressed almost as drably as we are?' whispered Maurice Richards at breakfast one morning. He was a burly fifteen year old who reminded Ray a bit of Fred Phillips to look at. Richards, however, was quite nice, in an aggressive sort of way.

'Oh, shut up, Richards. Take the revolution somewhere else,' said Henry, in his quiet, firm way.

'Unlike you, Chapman, some of us have backbone,' Richards retorted. 'What d'you say, Doyle? I bet I could expose them if only I had some help. None of these sissies'll give me the time of day. But you're new, you come from a big house, you must feel the cold more than the rest of us, the lack of food, the fact that sanitation is wanting and the air's rank and it's only a matter of time before we all catch something dreadful from it. And yet there are men in silk cravats teaching us, having banquets with the school board once a month; I've seen it! What d'you say?'

'Oh, I -- don't know,' Ray said, looking uneasily at Henry. On one hand he felt like he wanted to help, but he didn't want to lose Henry as a friend.

'Leave him alone, Richards,' Henry snapped. 'Ray's had a hard enough time without you getting him into trouble. Go and pick on someone your own size; stop trying to recruit the younger ones.'

'Think about it, eh?' Richards said. He gave Ray a warm grin and a wink, and moved off to another table.

'Ignore him,' said Henry. 'Trust me, Ray, there's nothing …'

But then Mr Preston, the Latin master, and owner of a fine peacock blue silk cravat, bellowed for silence.

'It's just not worth it,' Henry explained later, when the boys spent their meagre playtime huddled under their thin cloaks in the cold schoolyard, or running around to try and keep warm. 'I understand you wanting to help, Ray. You're a good sort.'

'I am?' Ray had always felt that he was, but no one had ever said it to him.

'Of course you are,' Henry answered. A smile graced his delicate, sallow features and warmed Ray to the heart. 'But it's really not worth you trying to do anything, Ray. We're charity children. We have no power, no say.'

'But surely if there's evil in the world we should try and change it!' Ray argued.

'Christ teaches us to turn the other cheek,' Henry said wearily. 'There _is_ wickedness in the world, Ray. But all the powerless like us can do is endure.'

He went into one of his periodic coughing fits. Ray swallowed nervously when he saw the drops of blood on Henry's handkerchief. He patted him awkwardly on the back and lost the heart for argument. In those first twelve weeks, Henry Chapman had been a constant and true friend. Ray got on fairly well with the boys in his own class, but they found him rather stuck up, especially at first. This had hurt Ray's feelings when he found out. As he complained to Henry, it wasn't that he was stuck up, it was just that he didn't always know what to say to people.

'Of course not,' Henry had reassured him. 'Most of the reason they think you're stuck up is that you come from a rich family. They see your history, not your real self. And if you're a little reserved, is it any wonder? From what you've told me, you've lived your whole life with people you couldn't trust. Why, then, should you trust strangers any more easily?'

'I trust you,' Ray had said, feeling _he_ ought to reassure Henry, in turn.

'I am glad,' Henry had replied, grasping his shoulder.

There was no reason for it, but Ray _did_ trust him. Perhaps he was wary of strangers, but he felt instinctively that Henry's friendship was real. It was the warmest thing Ray had encountered at Pinegrove, and his love-starved heart opened fully to receive it. In return he was loyal, because it was in his nature, but it was all the more fierce because he'd never had anyone to be loyal to before. What was more, Henry had a rough time at the school. Ill as he was, he couldn't join in any games, so the other boys tended to shun his company. He was clever, but something about him seemed to irk the teachers, so no matter how good his work was, he always seemed to be getting caned for something. But through it all, Henry practised what he preached: he endured, and rarely, if ever, did he complain. So whether or not he agreed with Richards -- and he did, deep down, if he really thought about it -- Ray wouldn't have gone against Henry Chapman for anything in the world.

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the hardship, Ray did feel, after some weeks had gone by, that he was as settled at Pinegrove as he'd ever been anywhere. He began to feel contented, if not exactly happy. Anywhere was better than where he'd been before. And the old place wasn't so bad, once you learnt the basics -- like never turning up to religious instruction with even a speck of dirt under your fingernails, because Mr James was a fastidious man and he'd flog your palms raw. And while Mr Davies, the woodwork master, was easy-going and friendly, woe betide you if you even glanced at the fellow next to you during arithmetic. Boys also learnt quickly to keep their baser passions under control at night, because if you soiled your sheets you could earn yourself a beating and two nights sleeping with your hands tied, even though most of the time, soiled sheets weren't the result of touching. Ray hadn't started all that yet, but he politely accepted all the advice: get it out the way in the bushes during break; keep rags under your mattress for when you feel it coming on you at night, and clean them in the morning, in the washbasin at the north end of the dormitory -- and while you're at it, don't ever wash your face in the north end washbasin.

'And if you don't want to broaden your outlook -- and your arse -- keep away from Sanderson and Hitchens, in the senior class, because they've got tendencies we don't like to mention,' advised Stephen Murphy, a boy Ray's own age, tapping his nose. Murphy fancied himself as worldly, and a bit of a class clown. He got the cane more times than all the other boys put together. He was the only boy Ray's age who didn't seem bothered by what Henry called Ray's reserve. He was friendly to everyone.

'Broaden your arse?' Ray asked Henry, when they were alone in the yard later.

'Yes,' Henry said with a laugh. 'That's how they do it, didn't you know? Girls have …'

A quick anatomy lesson later, and Ray felt that his outlook was quite broadened enough for one day. Whether it was that conversation, or the natural course of nature, he'd never know, but it seemed to stir something in him that was at once thrilling and disturbing. It was just under a month later that Ray joined the ranks of pupils whose dreams made them wake up gasping, reaching down between their legs to quell a painful hardness. Ray spent most of the following week sleeping with his hands tied, and was obliged to recover three times from six sharp blows to his backside. Being a quick study, and as averse to the cane as the next boy, by the end of the week after that, Ray'd learnt to wake up before he came, and reach for the rag he'd grown accustomed to keeping under his mattress.

But unlike many of the others, Ray never did it for pleasure. He supposed it did feel good when it happened: a release of pressure. And sometimes you just had to, if you had one of those dreams. But he couldn't help but feel guilty whenever it happened to him. After all, Mr James said it was dirty, and it was a sin to spill seed that was meant for the procreation of children. And how could something be a good thing when it had to happen in secret, and every time you were found out, you got beaten? Ray might have asked Henry's advice, but it wasn't something he felt comfortable discussing. Not when …

Deep down, though he scarcely liked to admit it even to himself, it wasn't just the attitudes of the grownups that made Ray feel guilty. What was it Murphy had called it? 'Tendencies we don't like to mention?' Ray shuddered to think about it. His dreams … they weren't … well, they just weren't _right._ You were supposed to think about girls, weren't you? They didn't meet girls very often, but when Mr James marched them to church on Sundays, there were girls there, from a nearby school like Pinegrove, and some of the boys who went home for the holidays liked to smuggle in pamphlets with drawings of naked women, which were passed around the various classes and sniggered over, and taken behind the bushes when anyone needed some inspiration. It wasn't as if there was no fodder for the imagination. And all right, maybe it was a sin to have these lustful thoughts, but they weren't thought unnatural. Thinking about boys, though: _that_ was unnatural. As for thinking about one boy in particular … that was even _more_ awful, wasn't it?

That was what Ray discovered, about ten weeks into his time at Pinegrove. He had unnatural, unmentionable tendencies. After years of fighting against the assumptions of his aunt and cousins, he came to the terrible realisation that he _was_ wicked after all, just not for any reason they would have imagined, or that he could help. Worst of all, his tendencies were making him betray his best friend, even though that friend would hopefully never know it. For Ray Doyle had fallen in love with Henry Chapman. And he hadn't the slightest idea what to do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Shortly after Christmas came the moment Ray had dreaded since he first set foot inside the school. Mr Parker, who sat at the head of Pinegrove's Board of Governors, was due to inspect the premises and give his start-of-the-year lecture. It was a cruel irony, but it was to happen on Ray's fourteenth birthday. Ray hadn't told anyone that the date was significant. It wasn't so much that he _didn't_ want a fuss, just that no fuss had ever been made of him on birthdays or Christmases, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with such attention, so he thought it safer to remain in ignorance. Perhaps later, when he and Henry had their daily schoolyard chat, he'd mention it to him. He thought he'd quite like to hear 'Happy birthday' spoken in Henry's soft, sweet voice. Now he was used to it, being in love with Henry didn't disturb Ray as much as it had done initially. He still felt guilty, but he also liked Henry's company more every day. It was nice loving someone, especially when you never had.

'Ugh,' said Murphy, as they all shivered, as usual, through their morning ablutions. 'It's Parker today, isn't it? If that man were any further up his own arse, he'd be inside out and going backwards.'

The boys all laughed. Henry, the only person who knew about Ray's previous meeting with the clergyman, grinned and nudged him.

'See?' he whispered between coughs. 'Parker's little liked here.'

'Henry, are you getting worse?' Ray asked, concerned. Henry did seem to be coughing more lately, and getting thinner.

'Mmm? Oh. It's always worse in winter.'

'If only there were some warm water,' said Ray. 'Do you think if we set one of the basins up over a candle …'

'It would take hours to heat up!' Henry said with a laugh. 'Or don't you think we'd be doing it already? No, Ray, don't worry about me.'

At the other end of the dormitory, one of the younger ones coughed as he dressed. The boys around him gave him a wide berth.

'Looks like you're not the only one today,' Murphy called over to Henry. 'You all right, Turner?'

'Fine, thank you,' Turner croaked, not very confidently.

'Well, come on, or we'll be late for Parker. I for one don't fancy a flogging.'

The bell clanged, and the boys trooped out of the dormitory and down into the dining hall for breakfast. The porridge was marginally warmer, and the tea marginally cooler today -- was that in honour of Parker's inspection, or was Ray just getting used to the food at last? There was some good news after breakfast, too. Mr Kirk stood up and told the school that if they were all on their best behaviour throughout Mr Parker's visit, and gave him no cause to reprimand them, there'd be bread and cheese for supper after he'd gone, as a special treat. The boys cheered, Ray no less than the rest. He hadn't tasted cheese since his first night at Pinegrove. According to Richards, the cheese, and the nicer-than-normal bread that was served with it, came out of Mr Kirk's own pocket, and that was why it was such a rare treat. The school budget never stretched that far, and Mr Parker did not approve of what he called 'indulging' the pupils. Hardship, discipline and the Bible was what Parker preached. Richards didn't hesitate to add that the board members grew fat off the hardship of Pinegrove boys, and Chapman could call him a revolutionary if he liked; he wasn't going to stop voicing his opinions.

'You know I'm right, Doyle,' he said, with a smug smile. Seeing Henry frown and open his mouth to speak, he added: 'No, don't say anything, Chapman, I remember, he's only thirteen, et cetera, et cetera.'

 _Fourteen,_ thought Ray, but he wasn't going to say so. He wondered why he didn't mind Henry speaking up for him. It would have annoyed him if anyone else had done it. Perhaps it was the rare spark of life that flashed across the beautiful face as he prepared to defend him. Ray hated to see Henry look so tired all the time, and it seemed that the colder it got, the tireder he became. Ray may have shivered along with the others, but he was healthy: fit and wiry and energetic, and he wanted so much to take his friend into his arms and hold him, give him his life and his warmth. It would have been nice, if only he knew how to go about it, and if the idea of it weren't tainted by the unnatural thoughts he couldn't stop himself from having, however hard he tried to shut them out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the dreaded visitor. The school stood as one, when Mr Parker swept into the dining hall. Ray felt an irrational sense of foreboding come over him. He was very grateful when Henry squeezed his hand under the table. He was also glad that Mr Parker didn't seem to see him when he passed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd just conduct his inspection and go away.

Some hope.

'You have, for the past four months, had a new pupil in your midst,' Mr Parker told the school. 'Let Raymond Doyle come forward. You there, boy, fetch that stool and place it in the middle of the floor, thus.'

The boy in question obeyed Mr Parker's words and gestures, then scuttled meekly back to his seat. Ray reluctantly let go of Henry's hand, and walked slowly to the front of the room.

'Stand upon that stool there, boy,' Mr Parker ordered. Ray mounted the stool and stood uneasily, looking around at the boys, who all stared back at him. Ray felt like sinking into the floor. He hated crowds of people looking at him. He hated Mr Parker more at that moment than he ever had. The look of triumph upon the red-haired man's face was insupportable. Ray felt an all-too-familiar surge of temper. He prayed he could stay calm. He sought out Henry's gaze, fixed his eyes upon his friend's. The effect was instant. He could look into those big, melancholic brown eyes and feel that he and Henry were the only two people in the universe.

'Now then,' said Mr Parker. 'I am sorry that I have been unable to come here earlier, to warn you about this boy. His aunt sent him to Pinegrove because he had become absolutely unmanageable: it was impossible for him to continue living under her roof. He tends towards violence. He behaves insolently under instruction. But worst of all, this boy is a liar.'

'How shocking!' exclaimed Mr Montgomery, that hypocrite, who lied and stole and wore silk cravats. Ray seethed, looked desperately at Henry, but he'd dropped his eyes. Ray clawed at his self-control and just managed to hold onto it. The worst thing of all was that he _wasn't_ just angry; he was hurt, too. Why was Parker so determined to ruin his life? What had Aunt Phillips said or done out of Ray's hearing, to so poison the clergyman against him? Now even his best friend, who knew about that first encounter in Aunt Phillips' morning room, wouldn't look at him. What would the others think? It would shatter the thin, hard-worn trust and comradeship that Ray had managed to build up over the past five months. And he didn't deserve a bit of it! Oh, it was too awful. Ray had to fight back tears. He wished himself anywhere but here. Even at his aunt's house, he'd never _expected_ contentment.

'This boy must be corrected through hardship and discipline,' Mr Parker went on. 'You must all avoid his influence. I only hope you have not been too tainted by his presence already. Shun his opinions; exclude him from your sports and your conversations. This I urge you, for your good and for his. Mr Kirk, let Raymond stand upon this stool until the close of lessons. Lessons can take place in this room, so that he might be watched at all times, and that I might visit the rest of the rooms in peace. Let him go without meals until tomorrow, and let him have bread and water only for the rest of the week. And let no one speak to him for the remainder of the day.'

 _So this is my fourteenth birthday,_ thought Ray, as Mr Parker gave a sermon on tolerance. Ray barely heard the words. Parker then swept out again with Mr Kirk at his heels, ready to conduct his inspection of the school.

After that, the other boys began their lessons. Two or three of the boys were threatened with the cane for staring at Ray, so they all soon ignored him. He stood on the stool, steadfastly looking over the heads of his classmates. He felt, now, as if _he_ were the only real being in the universe. Henry was just as alien as the rest. The hours passed, and Ray grew tired; his legs ached, his knees trembled, and he wondered a couple of times if his balance would fail him. He wondered how many times they'd thrash him if he fell off the stool. No longer was he just another member of the school. He, Ray Doyle, was branded a liar. His good name had been slighted by a man of far greater consequence than he. No one would ever trust him again.

By the time the bell went for dinner, Ray was having to fight back tears. He gritted his teeth and resolved not to keep feeling sorry for himself. Moreover, he was determined to ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach as the boys devoured their main meal of the day. He was glad to be left alone, or mostly alone, when they all went out to play. There were only the maids, cleaning up, and they went on as if he didn't exist.

Finally, _finally,_ the end of lessons came. It was usual for them all to gather in the dining hall, which doubled as an assembly hall, for prayers at that point, so the boys arranged the chairs accordingly, and Mr Kirk came in, with Mr Parker next to him. It was going to be he, and not Mr James, who led the assembly that day. He addressed the school, ignoring Ray, and told them to turn to a certain number in their hymn books. Mr Davies, the woodwork master, played the tiny organ that stood in the corner of the room, and the boys, no doubt anxious to earn their bread and cheese, broke into an enthusiastic rendition of "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling."

'Stop a moment,' Mr Parker called out, holding up his right hand halfway through the second verse. Obediently, the organ and singing ceased. Mr Parker walked from the front of the room to Ray's stool.

'Raymond Doyle,' he said, 'you are not singing.'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Ray, his voice as meek as he could make it, 'but I don't have a hymn book.'

 _And it didn't even occur to me that I was supposed to sing,_ he added to himself.

'Do you know none of the words by heart?'

'I --'

Ray had been going to say that he knew the first and last verses, but Mr Parker cut across him.

'I have a little boy of half your age who knows ten hymns by heart. When asked if he would rather eat a ginger nut, or learn a hymn, he opts for the latter. He then gets two nuts for his piety.'

Privately, Ray decided that Mr Parker's son was as devious as Fred Phillips, but he knew better than to say so. To his relief, Mr Parker turned away from him, but not for long. He snatched a hymn book from one of the boys nearest to him, and thrust it into Ray's hands. He then went to the corner of the hall, and picked up the cane that had been brought in for the day's lessons.

'Hold the book in your left hand. Hold out your right,' the clergyman ordered. Ray did as he was told.

'Now. Sing.'

 _'Love divine, all loves excelling …'_ Ray began tremulously. How could he sing convincingly about love and joy on a day like this? He looked anywhere but at Parker, who raised his hand, holding tightly to the cane.

As the cane came down on Ray's hand, he felt the sharp, stinging pain, and whimpered through the words he sang. But suddenly, that didn't matter. He'd caught Henry Chapman's eye, and Henry had flinched.

Ray sang loudly about love and joy and faithful mercies, and barely even felt the pain.


	6. Chapter 6

When assembly was over, Mr Parker addressed the school. He said he had completed his inspection, and he found that all was in order. He urged the teachers not to spare the rod, and he advised Mr Kirk to be firm, and not to indulge the boys. He'd heard reports that they were being given extra food on occasion. This was a bad idea. It would encourage vanity and misbehaviour. A simple life was the key to redemption.

'Very well, Mr Parker, I shall see you to your carriage,' said Mr Kirk. 'Boys, will you all please remain seated? I should like to address you myself on a matter of discipline, when I return.'

'You may do so now, Mr Kirk. I should like to hear what you have to say,' said Mr Parker.

'I fear it may take some time, Mr Parker, and I would not wish to keep you from your appointment with the archdeacon.'

'Of course, Mr Kirk. I am much obliged to you. I shall leave immediately -- good afternoon, school.'

'Good afternoon, Mr Parker,' the boys chorused. Ray joined in; he didn't dare not to.

Handing the cane to Mr Preston, Mr Parker left the dining hall with Mr Kirk behind him. A collective sigh of relief went around the school. A low babble of chatter broke out, but Mr Preston brandished his cane and called for silence. Mr James stood up and led them in another hymn. Ray, who still had the book in his left hand, sang along with the others.

Mr Kirk returned, thankfully alone, as they were completing the hymn.

'Thank you, Mr James. I am sure the boys enjoyed another chance at singing. Now, boys, I should like to address you on the subject of Mr Parker's visit. Firstly, however, I believe that since the school day is essentially over, Master Doyle may step down from his stool.'

Ray did so, carefully, because he felt that if he made any sudden movements he might fall over and humiliate himself.

'Now, Raymond, will you come forward, please?'

 _For heaven's sake, what now?_ Ray thought miserably. _What else has Parker told him to do?_

But Mr Kirk put his hand on Ray's shoulder, and smiled at him. Ray was too startled to do anything except look up at the headmaster.

'Now, boys,' said Mr Kirk. 'You have heard the charges brought against your schoolfellow by our estimable benefactor, and they are not, of course, to be taken lightly. However, I think we can all agree that Raymond has given us no reason to believe that he is still a deceitful boy, even if that might have been a fault of his in the past. Mr Parker, I think, has acted on incorrect or outdated information. I hope that we might all judge with our own senses what sort of a boy Raymond Doyle is, and agree that the punishment he has served today has been adequate redress for any wrongdoing he may have committed before coming to us at Pinegrove.'

'Hear hear!' called out Murphy. A ripple of laughter went around the hall.

'Silence!' bellowed Mr Montgomery.

'Secondly,' said Mr Kirk, 'I have been greatly impressed with your behaviour today, and I believe you have all earned your bread and cheese. Go outside and play now, and I shall see you all at supper time.'

There was a cheer, and a rush for the door, but Ray stayed put.

'Sir,' he said quietly. 'Thank you, sir.'

'You are welcome,' said Mr Kirk. 'You must, of course, join us for supper. I think you have had punishment enough.'

'Thank you, sir,' Ray said, through a deep yawn. 'Excuse me, sir.'

'You have had a hard day, boy. Go to your dormitory and rest until the bell goes.'

'Thank you, sir,' Ray said again, and hurried away. He was just glad he was going to be able to be alone, but Mr Kirk was right: he _had_ had a hard day, and his legs felt like they might give out beneath him. He staggered upstairs and flung himself thankfully onto his bed in the empty dormitory. Finally, some peace and quiet: a chance to be alone with the buzzing in his head. Mr Kirk had defended him. Henry didn't seem to hate him. And he would have a nice supper on his birthday, after all.

He was almost asleep when he felt his bed dip a little to one side. He opened his eyes to see Henry there, looking at him with concern.

'Are you all right, Ray?' he asked.

Hearing Henry's soft, clear voice, Ray knew at once that he _wasn't_ all right. He sat up straight and faced his friend.

'Parker's a liar!' he raged, his voice low and angry. 'Or rather, my aunt is. I've never been deceitful. I told you this. And you believed him, I saw your face!'

'No, Ray, you misunderstood,' Henry said soothingly, reaching out to grasp Ray's shoulder. Ray shook him off crossly. 'Ray! Listen. You don't understand. I couldn't watch him bully you anymore. I was afraid that I'd stand up and say something that would get us both into trouble. I was so angry. I wanted to defend you -- scream it for all the world to hear: Ray Doyle is no liar, he's a good person if only you'd get to know him!'

'Really?' Ray's eyes widened. When Henry touched him again, he didn't pull away. 'You would really have said that?'

'And I'd have meant every word,' Henry said earnestly. 'But you understand why I didn't, Ray?'

'Of course,' Ray answered.

'You're a true friend,' Henry told him. 'No one else has ever wanted to be my friend.'

'You're the best friend I've ever had,' said Ray. 'My _only_ friend, really. I just wish …'

He trailed off, realising with horror what he'd been about to say.

'What is it?' Henry asked. He squeezed Ray's arm tighter. 'You can tell me anything.'

'You'd hate me,' Ray said, with a crushing certainty.

'I could _never_ hate you,' Henry replied. 'Why, I love you better than anyone in the world!'

Happiness hovered at the edge of Ray's consciousness, but he wouldn't let it in. He knew that Henry couldn't mean the kind of love that _he_ felt: that terrible, tainted love that would send him straight to hell.

'I love you too,' he said sadly. 'That's just the trouble, Henry. My love isn't pure. I wish it were. I wish I could be as good as you. But I am wicked -- terribly wicked.'

'Do you mean … like Sanderson and Hitchens?' Henry asked. Ray watched him as he spoke. There was uncertainty on his face, curiosity, but not hate or revulsion. It gave Ray the courage to nod.

'Oh, Ray,' Henry whispered. 'If I weren't so ill, I -- God help me, I'd kiss you.'

'Henry Chapman, I wouldn't care if you had the plague,' Ray answered fiercely. He reached out and touched Henry's gaunt, sallow cheek, and kissed him, gently but insistently, on the lips. When Henry kissed him back it was the sweetest feeling in the world. Warmth spread through Ray's body as he drew Henry's thin frame into the embrace he'd longed for all these months. _This_ was what he wanted. The rest, the stuff of his dreams, the things that made him hard and wanting, could wait.

'It's my birthday today,' he whispered. After all, he'd planned to tell Henry during afternoon playtime, and there was no need for that to change, just because their relationship had.

'Happy birthday,' Henry murmured, tightening his hold.

Ray started to cry.

* * * * *

Little Joshua Turner, the boy who'd coughed on the morning of Mr Parker's visit, collapsed after breakfast the next day. The doctor was called, and he delivered bad news. Turner was the first case at Pinegrove of an epidemic of typhus that had been spreading through the poorer districts. Everyone in Turner's dormitory, including Ray, was kept away from the others, and their conditions monitored. But ironically, the next boy to present symptoms was in another dormitory. The next two were Turner's friends. The doctor was called back. Ray was among about half the boys in his dormitory who were proclaimed healthy. The others were beginning to show signs of the deadly disease.

Over the next three weeks, relatives and friends arrived in dribs and drabs, in carriages and on foot, to take away those boys who were lucky enough to be healthy and have somewhere to go. The school appeared to empty. The teachers began to dress in black. Solemn-looking men arrived to cart away too-small coffins. Boys who might have mocked each other for weeping politely ignored each other's tears, or offered shoulders and arms, as friends mourned friends who had died.

Henry showed no signs of developing typhus. But the winter was a hard one, and he was struggling through it. Ray saw him growing thinner and thinner, and his coughs become bloodier, and more frequent. He told him to see the doctor, but Henry insisted he had enough to do, making comfortable those who were dying.

'But you …' Ray started to argue, as they sat together on a bench in the school garden, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

'I _am_ dying, Ray,' Henry said gently. 'I have been dying since before you and I met. I have more time on earth than they. Let us make the most of it together.'

He huddled close to Ray, resting his head on his shoulder. Ray kissed the top of his head and held him tightly, trying to ignore the fact that bones stuck out wherever he touched his best friend. They hadn't kissed again, not properly, since that first day. Henry had been too afraid of passing on his own illness to Ray, and Ray hadn't had the heart to press him. He'd stopped fantasising about Henry now. It didn't seem right now that he was so ill. Ray was just happy that the little that had passed between them gave him the right to hold him, to offer comfort. At this terrible time, no one saw anything amiss.

But one afternoon, less than a week later, Henry didn't come to meet Ray in the schoolyard. Ray felt the cold seeping into his bones, and realised there was fear there, too. He hurried inside to seek out his friend. The first living soul he met was Dr Stuart, bustling along the corridor, a harried expression on his face.

'Please sir,' Ray asked timidly. 'Where is Henry Chapman?'

'Henry is in the infirmary,' Dr Stuart said wearily. 'He was taken ill late this morning. His complaint isn't typhus, you know, but consumption.'

'Yes, I know,' Ray replied. His voice sounded flat to his own ears.

'I understand he has been ill for many months.'

'Yes, sir.' Ray wished his voice would stop shaking.

'You'll need to bear up, my boy,' the doctor said kindly. 'Henry isn't with us for long.'

* * * * *

'I want to die. I don't want to stay here without you.'

 _'No,_ Ray.'

Henry's voice was little more than a rasp. His hollow chest barely rose and fell with his short, shallow breaths. Ray, sitting on the edge of Henry's bed in the near-empty infirmary, could count his ribs through his thin nightshirt. His hair was lank and damp with sweat. The gauntness of his face made his eyes look larger than ever. But, weak as he was, his voice was firm, and definite, and it forced Ray to take notice.

'Listen to me,' he croaked, taking Ray's hand in a surprisingly strong grip. 'You live, Ray, do you hear me? You live. Promise me.'

Choking back a sob, Ray promised.

Henry smiled, faintly but recognisably, as he died.


	7. Chapter 7

'Do it for Henry, Ray.'

'You won't convince me like that. Henry wouldn't have _wanted_ me to do it. He made that clear enough.'

'That's not what I mean!' Maurice Richards argued, throwing up his hands in a gesture of frustration. 'Consumption is a poor man's disease. Henry Chapman wasn't sick when he started at Pinegrove. He was younger than you when he came here, but he was always delicate. Now you and I, we're strong and healthy; we can fight off disease, but he was doomed by the life we're made to live here. You and I, Ray, if we work together -- we could _make_ them investigate. You know the press are already starting to make noise, don't you? They only need a little nudge. Just a little nudge. But I can't do it without help!'

Ray looked at him helplessly. He could feel himself starting to cave in. And Richards obviously sensed it. A gleam of hope came into his eyes.

'Help me make sure this place doesn't kill anyone else, Doyle. Come on. What do you say?'

Ray sighed. 'All right.'

* * * * *

'It's plain enough, sir!' Richards insisted, waving the sheet of paper under Mr Kirk's nose. 'Here we have solid evidence that Mr Preston and Mr Montgomery have been receiving handouts from the school budgetary fund, and skimming more off the top. It's worse even than we suspected. They've even been deceiving the board!'

'And where did you find this evidence, Maurice?' Mr Kirk asked.

'Doyle here found the account book, didn't you, Ray?'

'I found it in Mr Montgomery's desk, sir,' Ray told the headmaster.

'And I found this letter hidden behind the King's portrait in the staff room,' said Richards. He placed the paper on Mr Kirk's desk, on top of the account book that Ray had already put there. The two boys waited in silence as Mr Kirk perused the documents. They watched the shock and realisation dawn on his plain, pleasant features.

'I knew nothing of this,' he said softly.

'We _know_ you didn't, sir,' Richards said reassuringly. 'You'd never be involved in anything like that. But will you tell someone? Will you report it? We can get justice, Mr Kirk; we can change this place for the better! Wouldn't you like do that?'

'Indeed I would, Maurice,' said Mr Kirk, 'though I would remind you that you are fifteen years old …'

'Sixteen, sir …'

'Sixteen, then. But it is still not your place to tell your headmaster what he does and does not want to do.'

'Sorry, sir,' Richards apologised hastily.

'Well, never mind,' said Mr Kirk. 'I am grateful to you boys for bringing this to my attention. Leave it with me, now, and I shall take what action I see fit.'

'You will take action though, won't you, sir?' Ray asked. 'I should not like to think our friends died for nothing.'

'You, Raymond,' said Mr Kirk, looking carefully at him, 'have grown. And your voice is deepening.'

'Sir?' Ray felt confused.

'I am pleased with you. Leave now, the pair of you. Leave this with me.'

'Silly old sod,' said Richards, when they were safely out of earshot.

'He's twenty-four,' Ray replied.

'Well, you've been here almost a year, what does he expect? Short-sighted twit -- I tell you, Ray, if he doesn't do something …'

'He will,' said Ray. 'I'm fairly sure he will.'

* * * * *

Mr Preston had seen Ray and Maurice Richards coming out of Mr Kirk's study that afternoon in September. He put two and two together. So when the parish constables arrived to take him and Mr Montgomery away, on charges of fraud and embezzlement, they were both crying out promises of revenge.

'Not to worry, boys,' Mr Kirk reassured them. 'They'll be hanged or transported. You won't be seeing them again.'

* * * * *

A year after that, Maurice Richards left Pinegrove. But by the time he did, the place had been reformed, due to the pressures of the newspapers, and the removal of certain members of the board. Mr Parker was among them. His reputation and connections allowed him to return to his parish without so much as a blemish on his public character, but it was understood, behind closed doors, that he wouldn't be sitting on a board of school governors again. Without his dictates of hardship, discipline and the Bible, the new board, which included a much happier Mr Kirk, put the funds to better use. By Ray's sixteenth birthday, the place was properly heated, and the pupils were properly dressed and fed. Mr Kirk was able to be as useful to the school as he'd always wanted to be, and in time, Pinegrove did become a truly useful and charitable institution. Ray remained a pupil there until he was sixteen and a half. He was at the head of his class.

After that, having nowhere else to go and, besides, having become quite fond of Pinegrove, Ray joined the staff as a teacher. He went from sharing a large, draughty dormitory with eleven other boys, to sleeping in a stuffy little attic bedroom with old Mr James, who talked in his sleep. Even for teachers, the beds at Pinegrove were hard and narrow, and privacy almost non-existent. But Ray was well used to that by now.

He taught Latin and arithmetic to the younger boys, and played football with them in the yard during the breaks. He loved every minute of it. He often spent his evenings with Mr Kirk in his study, discussing art, which they both loved, or simply enjoying a cup of tea in front of the fire. Sometimes they would go down to the local pub for a drink, and if he got tipsy enough, Mr Kirk would start raving about Morwenna Pendrea, a young needlework teacher who arrived at the nearby girls' school when Ray had been teaching just over two years.

'Whenever I hear her voice,' Mr Kirk confessed, 'when she does the reading at the Sunday service -- that lilting Cornish accent -- honestly, Ray, I could die.'

'Well, don't do that, because I'm sure I've seen her making eyes at you,' Ray confided. 'For heaven's sake, John, _talk_ to the girl, will you? Put us all out of our misery.'

'When I've seen you do more than flirt with the barmaid, Master Doyle, I'll listen to you.'

Ray grinned. He was happy enough flirting with the barmaid and meaning it. Since Henry's death, he'd started to notice girls, and he hadn't thought about boys in an unnatural way again. Thinking of his friend, his first love, still caused him pain sometimes. But although he'd have willingly given up everything he had now to have Henry back with him again, he did feel pleased, and satisfied, that he finally seemed to have become normal. Perhaps in a strange way, Mr Parker had been right. Perhaps the hardship of Pinegrove in the early days _had_ purged the wickedness from his soul. All he knew was that he was living, now, as he'd promised Henry he would. What was more, he was being active, and useful, as a good Christian ought. He prayed that it might long continue.

* * * * *

As Mr Corey, the vicar, liked to quote, to everything there is a season. It took John Kirk five years to work up the nerve to approach Morwenna Pendrea, but it only took him a year of painstakingly proper courtship for him to propose. Morwenna's father, a clergyman, came up to meet John, and soon took a liking to him. He consented to the match, provided John agreed to make his home in Cornwall, so that Morwenna could be near her family.

'If there is a living to be made there, sir, I will gladly come,' said John, who was so besotted that he'd have followed Morwenna to darkest Africa if she'd so desired.

'There is a school in my parish, something like this one, for the miners' children,' said Mr Pendrea. 'In a year's time, the current headmaster will retire. Will you be content with a year's engagement, Mr Kirk?'

'If it pleases your daughter,' said John.

'And it does, actually,' he later told Ray, 'because as much as she's looking forward to getting married and starting a family, she does love teaching. If she stays another year, the first class of girls she taught will leave at the same time as she does. It's fitting.'

'It sounds fine, if you're happy to wait.'

'For Wenna? Anything,' John said happily. 'Honestly, Ray, wait till you fall in love. There's no feeling like it in the world.'

'I'm sure there isn't,' Ray replied, trying not to think of Henry.

'Listen here, Ray,' said John. 'I'm sure the board would agree to you taking on my post after I've gone. What would you say to that?'

'I shall think about it,' Ray promised.

* * * * *

But when it came to it, Pinegrove didn't feel like home after John and Morwenna had left for Cornwall. The corridors became bleaker, and the lessons duller. Ray found himself craving freedom -- or, at least, a new kind of servitude. But he didn't want to teach at a school, at least not for a few years. He wondered what he _did_ want to do.

 _I could go and be a starving artist on the Continent somewhere,_ he thought idly, as he sat sketching in the garden before breakfast one morning.

The answer seemed to come with the morning post. A letter from Maurice Richards -- had Ray read about the new Act of Parliament? London was taking on the Scottish system. The city was going to have its very own Metropolitan Police.

 _No more being a lowly parish constable for me,_ Richards wrote. Ray could feel the excitement in the letter. _I'm going to be a Peeler. That's what they're calling them. Did you hear? After Sir Robert Peel, of course. Why not come and join me, Doyle? It's got to be more exciting than Pinegrove._

Feeling that it was an sign from God, Ray drafted out his letter of resignation.

* * * * *

'You,' the police recruiting sergeant said to Richards. 'You'll do. Nice big burly lad. That's what we're looking for. You --' he addressed Ray '-- too small. No chance. Sorry.'

'Oh, give him a chance, Sarge!' protested Richards. 'Doyle's tougher than he looks, you know. Anyway, what d'you mean he's too small? Five foot seven, the regulations say. Ray's five-nine if he's an inch -- probably taller.'

'It's not the height. He's too scrawny. This is tough work, Richards, and you need to look the part. Intimidate. That's our instructions. Prevent crimes before they occur. Establish a strong presence. Big burly lads. Sorry.'

'Sorry, Ray,' Richards said later, over a pint of ale. 'Wouldn't've got you down here if I'd thought it'd be a problem. I thought if you were over five-seven and wanted the job, you'd be fine. Still, it might be for the best. It is tough work. Thieves, murderers, gangs, whores. And you've only lived at Pinegrove.'

'I'm not entirely ignorant of the world, you know,' Ray snapped.

'Oh, I know. I'm sorry, I really am.'

'Don't worry about it,' said Ray, with a resigned sigh. 'I've decided what to do.'

'Oh?'

'I'm going to be a private tutor. I had one years ago, when I was still at my aunt's. Complete bastard, he was. A real bully. I'd like to have a go at it. See if I can be better.'

'How do you get a job like that?' asked Richards.

'Advertise,' said Ray. He finished his drink and stood up, holding out his hand. 'Best of luck, Maurice. You were made for this sort of work. I hope you rise to the very top.'

'And I,' said Richards with a grin. He shook Ray's hand. 'I'll see you again, I hope.'

'Hope so. Take care.'

Ray went back to his lodgings and wrote out an advertisement, which he paid to have printed in a couple of newspapers. It wasn't long before he received a reply. A Mrs Harrison was seeking a tutor for a ten year old boy. If the young man who'd advertised was interested, he should write to her at Bramblewood Hall to accept the position under a trial period of three months.

It was the first offer Ray had received, but somehow it felt right. He wrote back to say he would accept, and packed his bags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did research the bit about scrawny blokes not being allowed to join the police. I have no real idea whether Doyle's build would have kept him out, but it's likely. And he couldn't have joined the police without messing up the story. *g* Plus, a late Georgian Doyle wouldn't have known karate and stuff, so he's not quite as formidable a character as the CI5 man we know & love.


	8. Chapter 8

It seemed to be Ray's lot in life to arrive at new places in the dark. He travelled from dawn until quite a long time after dusk to reach his destination. He got the impression of a sizeable park, a long, winding drive, and a house that was at least the size of his childhood home, and five times larger than Pinegrove. More than that, it was too dark to observe, besides which, he was exhausted. He was relieved to be expected, that there might be something hot to eat and drink, and a cosy bed. Anything else could wait for the morning.

Mrs Harrison was a large lady of indeterminate middle to elderly age, who at any rate looked too old to have a ten year old son. Ray wondered if he was the youngest of many, or perhaps an adoptive child: a ward, or the son of a deceased relative. He supposed he'd find all that out in due course.

'I am very pleased to have you here, Mr Doyle,' Mrs Harrison said warmly, as she led him into a small parlour that was deliciously warm after the chill of the carriage. 'It will be pleasant to have someone with whom I can talk. Martha, that's my maid, and Nathaniel, the man who took your bag, they are nice enough, but they _are_ only servants.'

'I should be pleased to talk with you, ma'am,' Ray replied politely. 'And I look forward to meeting young Master, er ...'

'Kellar,' said Mrs Harrison. 'He is the master's ward. His name is British enough, but he has passed most of his life in France. His father was a soldier in the late war. He and the master were in the same regiment -- both, as I understand it, stayed on in Paris for some years after it was captured.'

'Oh, I see,' said Ray. 'But I beg your pardon, ma'am, I was not aware that there was a master of Bramblewood -- since it was you who replied to my advertisement, I had assumed ...'

'Oh, that _I_ was mistress here? Good gracious, no,' Mrs Harrison said with a high, tinkling laugh that Ray could tell was going to get on his nerves. 'I am only the housekeeper. I look after Mr Bodie's affairs while he is from home. Which, I might add, is often. It is by no means certain when you will meet him.'

'Mr Bodie,' Ray repeated.

'Yes.'

'What's he like?'

'He -- well,' replied Mrs Harrison, with some consternation. 'It is hard to describe him. He is a very good master, but an unusual sort. It is hard to tell sometimes whether he is in jest or in earnest. He comes and goes from Bramblewood without warning, and always expects his house to be in order. He has never married, although it is thought that he might soon do so, if he decides to settle here. He is thought very handsome, and like all gentlemen he is used to having his way. I would say he is about your age, perhaps a year or two older. What is your age, if it is not an impertinence to ask?'

'Not at all, Mrs Harrison. I am seven-and-twenty years old.'

'I thought as much. Mr Bodie is about thirty; he went to war very young. But that was the custom then. He was not the youngest officer in his regiment.'

Ray thought about this in silence for a moment. If Mr Bodie had been present at the occupation of Paris, he had probably been at Waterloo. If he was thirty now, that made him sixteen at most when he fought in the battle. Ray thought of himself at sixteen: he had been finishing his schooling at Pinegrove, about to begin his career as a teacher; he'd read about the defeat of Napoleon in the papers and it had felt very far away, very beyond him and his closed-in existence. If he'd been asked to fight a battle then ...

'Mr Bodie is a man of the world, then,' he said to Mrs Harrison.

'Very much so, Mr Doyle.'

Ray was beginning to realise how sheltered his life had been. Mr Bodie, no doubt, would look down on him, not just because of the difference in rank, but experience. He wondered how he might impress his employer, then wondered at _himself,_ for wanting to. Some instinct, perhaps ... how important might Mr Bodie's opinion be for the progress of his career? If he wished to continue as a private tutor he would require a good reference.

Martha, Mrs Harrison's maid, brought in some tea, and Ray sipped his in silence while Mrs Harrison chattered on, seemingly unconcerned that he didn't say much. The warmth of the fire was making him feel sleepy, and he was very relieved when Mrs Harrison finished her tea, and mentioned that the fires in the bedrooms had been lit, and his bed turned down, and his things brought up, and would he follow her upstairs? She showed him to an airy, comfortable apartment at the back of the house, such that he had not entered since childhood. The large, soft-looking bed was very inviting. Mrs Harrison wished him good night, and left him. With barely the energy to wash and change, Ray fell thankfully under the bedclothes, and into a dreamless slumber.

* * * * *

He woke the next morning feeling warmer and more peaceful than he had felt in years. If it weren't for the fact that he was eager to explore his new surroundings, he would have been tempted to stay in bed half the day. He rose from his bed to find that his fire had been lit, and a basin of warm water had been placed on a stand nearby, with a clean towel. Ray washed and dressed himself quickly, putting on the new boots he'd bought for walking in the country. He'd been raised to believe that vanity was a sin, but he couldn't help but think they set his figure off quite well. He fingered the simple gold cross that reposed as usual on its chain around his neck, and thought of how much comfort and guidance the Church had given him over the years, and yet how it could still torture one's mind with confusion and guilt. He thought of Mr Parker and his far-off promise of a lake of fire for liars. He thought of Catholics and how wicked they were meant to be, how backward, how ruled by superstition, or so he'd always been taught. He thought of a book he had read once, which had contained an account of Napoleon's soldiers burning the Palace of the Inquisition at Madrid, in which Christian men still tormented the body, as well as the mind. He wondered if Mr Bodie had seen any of those things.

 _How strange it is that one's mind can wander so,_ he thought, _when one has awoken in a warm bed, in a new place, having secured a good post, with a generous salary, and a room of one's own._

His preparations for the day complete, Ray thought instead of young Master Kellar, and wondered what the schoolroom would be like, and how it would feel to concentrate all his attention on one pupil. Ray descended one of the back staircases, and slipped out of a side door, into the grounds. He walked around ornamental lawns, relishing the peace and quiet, which was broken only by the occasional burst of birdsong. He went no further than the lawns that day, but he noted the position of the stables. He was coming back round the side of the house when he met Mrs Harrison, coming the other way.

'Ah! I see you are an early riser, Mr Doyle,' she said pleasantly.

'Years of habit, Mrs Harrison,' he replied. He knew his smile was too stiff, but his years in the shelter of Pinegrove's walls had served to reinforce rather than alleviate the awkwardness, even wariness, that his time at his aunt's house had taught him to have with strangers.

'Well, come in, there is breakfast in my parlour!'

Ray followed her back towards the door. Despite the chill, he was sorry to leave the fresh air behind for the warmth of Mrs Harrison's parlour, which he'd begun to feel was rather excessive during their long conversation the night before.

'Yes, I suppose being a schoolmaster, you'll be used to a rigid routine,' conjectured Mrs Harrison as they walked. 'That is all well and good. Young master Kellar is in need of discipline. He was raised initially by his mother, according to Mr Bodie, but she died two years ago, and Mr Bodie brought him to England. Knowing the child was accustomed to female company, he asked me to hire a governess. We went through four governesses in quick succession, and they all found him unteachable.'

'So Mr Bodie decided he needed the discipline of a male tutor after all,' said Ray.

'Quite so, Mr Doyle,' said Mrs Harrison. 'There was one instruction he was most anxious I pass on, however. I am almost reluctant to say so, since it would not be my way, but the master's orders must be obeyed. He is adamant that the child will not be subject to corporal punishment of any kind.'

Ray, feeling a flood of warmth for his as yet elusive employer, nodded.

'I am glad to hear it, Mrs Harrison. That is my way of doing things also.'

'Well, I _am_ surprised!' said Mrs Harrison, turning around at the door of her parlour to fix Ray with the sort of look one gives someone when one is not used to being disagreed with. Ray was sure his feeling of triumph was uncharitable, but he couldn't help it. 'And do you find your pupils teachable, Mr Doyle?'

'Quite teachable, Mrs Harrison, I assure you,' said Ray, with a wry smile that he threw over his shoulder as he passed the housekeeper on the way to his chair.

* * * * *

Arthur Kellar was anything _but_ teachable at first. He had been spoilt and overindulged, and although he spoke English quite well, he was distinctly reluctant to do so. Ray's spoken French was intermediate at best. He had taught himself as best he could from books, so that he could read the quarterly journals to which John Kirk had subscribed. They often reviewed European works, and quoted extensively from them in their original languages. Ray was glad of that now as he struggled with his pupil. But he believed in teaching with kindness as well as authority, and the boy soon took to him, and became a willing student. He even stopped pretending he hated arithmetic when Ray began rewarding good test results with cake. The supposed three month trial period came and went without mention, and Ray relaxed, just a little.

He found himself able to settle at the house, and grew to love the quiet of the place, the vast, beautiful grounds, the woods and the village that were part of Mr Bodie's estate. When lessons were over for the day he often went up to the roof to sketch and daydream. Mrs Harrison had been reluctant to show him the way at first, because she said there were strong gusts of wind up there, and it was dangerous. Ray wasn't quite sure what to make of the idea that a gust of wind would blow him over, but perhaps Mrs Harrison was used to dealing with governesses. Despite her protests, he went up there most afternoons. It was peaceful, apart from the occasional noise from the attics, where a couple of the women went to sew and gossip. He often heard a strange, lewd, drunken-sounding laugh, distinctly female, but he never saw anybody.

'You are making excellent progress, Arthur,' he told Master Kellar, at the end of his sixth month at Bramblewood Hall, and the beginning of what promised to be a lovely spring. 'And you have not been late for lessons in a month!' After a pause, he added, with a twinkle in his eye, 'This is most remiss of you.'

'Oh no, I have shortened sir's morning drawing session!' Arthur teased. Ray was often to be found sketching at the window of the schoolroom while he waited for his pupil to arrive. He smiled, pleased that the boy's English had improved enough for him to understand and make jokes.

'Get along and play now, Arthur. I shall be in my room -- I have a letter to write.'

'Yes, Mr Doyle.'

Arthur clattered off noisily, and Ray followed at a more stately pace. He went to his room and sat at his desk under the window, writing one of his regular letters to John Kirk. He was in an absent-minded mood, and it was growing dark when he finished it.

'Damn, and I'd hoped to catch the post,' he muttered. He sealed up the envelope and reached for his cloak. If he walked over to the village now, the letter would go with the early morning mail.


	9. Chapter 9

'You're not going out now, Mr Doyle, surely!' said Martha, whom Ray met on his way out the front door. 'It looks like rain, and it'll be pitch black out there soon!'

'I shall enjoy the walk,' Ray answered firmly. He set off in the fading light, walking briskly to the village. He nodded at a couple of people he knew by sight, from church, and they nodded back at him. He posted his letter, and wandered more slowly back through the woods, enjoying the darkness -- even quite enjoying the cold. It was all right to be cold when you knew you could curl up in front of a fire when you got home, and darkness was fine when it was permeated by the moon and stars.

Home. Yes. He did think of Bramblewood Hall as home. He had his own space there, and a clear function to perform. It was as much 'his' as any home would ever be for a man of his station. He had accepted long ago that he would never be rich, and he didn't mind. Thoughts of rising above Mrs Phillips and looking down upon her were long outgrown. Henry Chapman had taught him humility.

He smiled as he thought of Henry. The object of his affections in a confused youth, the adult Ray now remembered him fondly: his first and dearest friend.

'And I'll never forget,' he murmured as he walked. 'Never ...'

Lost in thought, he didn't hear the clatter of horse's hooves until the animal was almost upon him. Ray turned and jumped out the way, tripping and falling backwards into a bush at the side of the road; the horse neighed and reared and unseated his rider. Ray heard a bump, and a grunt of pain.

'Sir!' Ray got to his feet and hurried over to the fallen figure. The horse righted himself and stood placidly nearby. 'Are you all right?'

'You damned fool!' cursed the stranger. His voice was smooth, deep and cultured. 'You bewitched my horse!' He looked up from the ground; Ray got the impression of a head of black hair and a pale, angry face, but the moonlight penetrating the trees would reveal no more.

'I do apologise, sir; I was walking home from the village.'

'Your tread is clearly too soft. What are you, an elf?'

Ray was torn between amusement at the notion, and annoyance at the arrogant tone of the stranger's voice. Remembering that the man was injured, he settled for humour.

'I am no elf, sir,' he said laughingly.

'Where do you come from?'

'Bramblewood Hall, sir.'

'Bramblewood!'

'You know it?'

'Indeed I do,' the man replied. 'What do you do there?'

'I teach the young boy who lives there.'

'Oh yes. The young schoolmaster,' the man said thoughtfully. 'Help me up, would you?'

Ray offered his hand and hauled the stranger to his feet. He was a big man: broad and solid-looking, though not excessively tall. He stood an inch or two above Ray, but no more.

'You sound like you've heard of me, sir,' Ray couldn't help observing, as he allowed the larger man to lean on him, his arm around his waist. Ray felt a little awkward; he hadn't been touched so familiarly for quite a while, but he understood the necessity of it.

'I should hope I have. Help me to my horse, that's right. It was I who requested Mrs Harrison to engage a tutor. I am the master of Bramblewood.'

'You're Mr Bodie!' Ray was relieved; the stranger's words had confused him.

'I am. And what is your name, schoolmaster? Mrs Harrison did write and tell me, but I'm afraid I have a bad memory for names.'

'My name is Raymond Doyle, sir.'

'I am pleased to meet you, Raymond Doyle. Excuse me clutching your waist instead of shaking hands, but I fear I've sprained my ankle. Thank God I did not choose to engage a governess!'

Ray laughed. 'I'm glad to meet you too, sir.'

He gave Mr Bodie a leg-up into his saddle.

'Why don't you climb up behind me, Mr Doyle? I'll soon have us home. I'd rather you didn't frighten any more passers-by, skulking in the dark with your elf-like ways.'

'I am _not_ elf-like!' protested Ray.

'Nonsense. I'd wager you've green eyes and everything.'

'My eyes are blue, Mr Bodie,' Ray said firmly.

'So are mine, but I don't hide by the side of the road, jumping out on unsuspecting equestrians.'

'It was an accident, sir.'

'I realise that. I'm jesting with you. Don't be so sensitive. Or aren't you used to humour where you come from, Mr Doyle?'

'I am perfectly used to humour, Mr Bodie,' said Ray, quite on his dignity now. 'It is only that I am not yet used to yours. Why don't you ride on, sir? I enjoy the walk. And if you wish that I should clump along like a man of twice my weight, why, I shall gladly obey. It is, after all, your land. Sir.' He left a deliberate pause between the last two words.

Mr Bodie glowered down at him for a moment. Then, without another word, he kicked his horse into a gallop with his good leg, and sped for home, leaving Ray watching after him, feeling such a mixture of good and ill humour, like and dislike, that he felt quite bewildered. Mr Bodie, it seemed, was a highly irritating man.

* * * * *

Ray did not see Mr Bodie again that night; nor did he wish to. He went straight to his room, had Sarah, one of the chambermaids, light the fire, and sat in a well-stuffed armchair, reading a book, until he felt tired. He went to bed feeling like his world had been disrupted. Mrs Harrison said that the master was often from home. Perhaps he wouldn't stay long. Ray felt that they'd got off to a bad start, and that he and his employer might not like each other. But then, gentlemen didn't spend much time with their wards' tutors, did they? Gentlemen went shooting, and visiting; they sat in their libraries and managed their affairs, or improved their minds, or wrote snotty letters to _John Bull_ about why Lord Wellington shouldn't have emancipated the Catholics, or why the lower classes shouldn't get the vote.

 _I needn't see much of him at all,_ Ray thought, just before he went to sleep.

The next day promised to be as normal as ever. There was no sign of Mr Bodie when Ray went down for breakfast, and Arthur came promptly for his lessons. He mentioned quite excitedly that his guardian was home, and he was going to see him in his study after supper, but he didn't allow the fact to distract him too much. Ray had never asked Arthur what he thought of Mr Bodie. When lessons were over, he did ask him.

'He is a nice man, Mr Doyle. He always brings _les bons cadeaux.'_

'I'm sure he does,' said Ray, with a smile, and dismissed Arthur to his play. Well, Mrs Harrison had said he was a generous master. And he hadn't struck Ray as being a malicious man, just ... aggravating.

Mr Bodie proved more aggravating still when Martha came to Ray on the roof that afternoon, with a note saying he wished to see Mr Doyle, as well as Arthur, in his room after supper. Ray supposed he would want to discuss his ward's academic progress, and perhaps have another go at him for being an elf and bewitching his horse. Arrogant, rich, over-stuffed ...

Ray gritted his teeth and remembered Henry's words of years ago: 'all the powerless can do is endure.' Well, he _would_ endure. He'd swallow his pride; he'd sit and be polite and speak when he was spoken to. Let Mr Bodie dare to try and find fault with him. He liked his post here, and he wasn't going to jeopardise it because of a clash of personalities.

When he arrived at Mr Bodie's room, Mrs Harrison was there serving tea, and Arthur was playing with a set of toy farm animals. Clearly, he was pleased with his 'cadeau,' and Mr Bodie was indeed a generous guardian. Sitting by the fire on a chaise-longue, his sprained ankle resting on a fat cushion, Mr Bodie showed himself to be a fine figure of a man, with dark, slightly wavy hair, and an incredibly handsome face. His eyes, as he had said, were blue, but they were a much deeper blue than Ray's. When he blinked, Ray caught sight of long, thick, black eyelashes that gave his face a kind of softness, contrasting pleasingly with the strong, masculine shape of his cheekbones and jawline.

 _My God, he's ..._ Ray thought in awe, but he stopped himself. He was glad the blush that heated his cheeks probably wouldn't show up in the dim light.

 _Not again,_ he begged inwardly, directing his thought half to himself and half to God. _Not again, please._

'Have you got Mr Doyle a present, sir?' Arthur asked eagerly when his tutor arrived.

'Do you expect a present, Mr Doyle?' Mr Bodie asked, with a sardonic smile.

'Indeed no, sir,' said Ray, embarrassed.

'Are you fond of presents?'

'I have heard that they are pleasant things,' he replied stiffly. There had been no time or money for any of that sort of frivolity at Pinegrove, and Ray hadn't missed what he'd never had.

Mr Bodie looked mildly surprised, but he said nothing.

'Mrs Harrison,' he addressed the housekeeper, 'it is high time Arthur was in bed. Will you see to it, please? I should like to speak with Mr Doyle alone.'

'Yes, Mr Bodie,' said Mrs Harrison. 'Come, young Master, it's bedtime. Put away your toys.'

She helped Arthur gather his farm animals and put them back in their box. They left in silence.

'Come and sit here by the fire,' Mr Bodie said to Ray. But the tone of command annoyed Ray, so he remained where he was.

'I mean "if you please",' said Mr Bodie. 'Excuse me, I am used to giving orders and having them obeyed. I am accustomed to dealing either with servants or with men of my own class. The etiquette of addressing those in between is somewhat lost on me. Will you please join me, Mr Doyle?'

Ray smiled a little, and came to sit in the armchair Mr Bodie had indicated. It was quite close to the chaise-longue, and it gave him the opportunity to study his employer more carefully. He seemed just as perfect up close as he had done from further away. His nose was long and straight, and turned up slightly at the end. His mouth was wide and quite full, though not as full as Ray's, and inclined to pout.

He was quite beautiful. Ray couldn't help but think it. He was so busy thinking it that he didn't realise that neither he nor Mr Bodie had said a word for some minutes.

'Why do you stare at me?' Mr Bodie asked suddenly. 'Do you find me handsome?'

'No!' Ray answered, startled into falsehood. But Mr Bodie didn't look offended, only amused.

'I mean, I -- that is -- I didn't --'

'Don't _worry,'_ said Mr Bodie, laughing. Ray wished he wouldn't laugh at him so much, when he couldn't laugh at him in return without seeming disrespectful.

'I was only ...' he started to explain.

'Studying me? Fair enough,' said Mr Bodie. 'I was studying you, too. Natural enough, don't you think? We do not yet know each other. Well, you have had time to consider it, Mr Doyle, so tell me -- what faults do you find in me?'

 _Lie,_ Ray told himself. But as he prepared to do so, he heard Mr Parker's voice in his head: 'This boy is a liar.' He heard his own indignant words to Henry: 'I am no liar!' So Ray was betrayed by bad memories into telling the truth.

'I can find no fault in you,' he said wearily. 'Except that your left eyebrow is a slightly different shape from your right.'

'But you do not find me handsome.'

'I am a man -- should I consider it?'

'Why not?'

Ray sighed. 'I don't know.'

Mr Bodie grinned. His good humour lit up his face, making it a more wonderful sight than ever.

'Well, it is easy to find fault in you,' he said, as if being frank was satisfying to him. 'Your face is clearly flawed. Is that cheek of yours a natural occurrence, or was it some accident or other?'

'It was no accident, sir,' Ray said harshly, flushing at the memory. 'As a child I lived with my aunt and cousins. My eldest cousin was a bully. He broke a vase over my face and smashed the bone. The surgeon had to make a new one out of wax and rubber.'

Mr Bodie looked shocked and sympathetic. Both expressions were new, and surprising, to Ray.

'How old were you for God's sake?'

'Thirteen. They sent me to school after that. I was glad to go.'

'And that was the school at which you were teaching when you accepted the post here?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Your life has been sheltered, then -- yet not uneventful. But damn it, the operation must have hurt!'

'It was painful, sir.'

Mr Bodie sighed heavily. 'I was a soldier, Mr Doyle, I have seen a great many things I should not wish to see again. I was thirteen when I received my first commission. But I was lucky enough to escape serious injury. I don't know how I would have coped, but I am sure you bore the pain manfully.'

'I did not cry out, if that is what you mean.'

'I am glad to hear it, though I should not blame you if you had. But I expect you did not wish to give your cousin the satisfaction of hearing you scream.'

'Indeed, sir.'

Mr Bodie nodded. 'Quite so. And I should have added that flaws aside, I find you handsome. I have no qualms about saying it, even if you do.'

 _You would if you thought the way I do about men,_ Ray thought bitterly. _The way I thought I'd never think again._

'Thank you, sir,' he said aloud. Despite his discomfort, the ease with which his employer complimented him made him smile. Mr Bodie, to Ray's equal delight and despair, gave his wonderful smile in return.


	10. Chapter 10

So he liked Mr Bodie after all. So he found him handsome. Ray was grown up now. He could handle it. If he didn't like having these feelings, he could squash them. There was no sense in dwelling on the matter. And they really weren't going to be seeing that much of each other, were they?

The trouble was, Mr Bodie had other ideas. He enjoyed Ray's company, perhaps because there wasn't another man in the house who was anything like his equal. He sent for Ray on a nightly basis, until a couple of months went by: then he stopped asking, and Ray kept coming anyway. What was more, Mr Bodie liked to ask questions. He seemed to want to know everything about Ray's life before he came to Bramblewood. Ray obliged him. He talked about his aunt, his cousins, about Mr Parker and Pinegrove and cold and hunger and typhus, about Maurice Richards and how they'd exposed the crimes of the board of governors, about John Kirk and his kindness, and the happiness he'd found with Morwenna. The only thing he omitted was the existence of Henry Chapman.

Ray wasn't exactly sure why he didn't want Mr Bodie to know about Henry. He had a strange, illogical idea that if he kept Henry a secret, he could keep a lid on everything Henry had meant to him, and everything those feelings represented. He knew it was stupid, but that didn't matter. It was his only defence against an ever-increasing ache whose source he knew all too well, and Ray clung to it.

Mr Bodie talked too. He told Ray about his mother whom he hardly remembered, his much-elder brother, and their father, who'd only shown an interest in his eldest son and heir. He had groomed him to inherit the estate, and sent his younger son off to the army as soon as he was anything like old enough. Mr Bodie told Ray about fighting in the war, about his friend Jimmy Kellar, the son of a well-to-do tailor, and how they'd been ensigns, then lieutenants together. They'd joined Wellington's army as it marched over the Pyrenees from Spain and into France. They'd marched into Paris twice: once in 1814 and once in 1815, after the Hundred Days. They'd been stationed there for four years, while the British were occupying France; then they'd sold their commissions and stayed on. Jimmy had started a tailoring business and Mr Bodie had kept the books while he learnt the trade. Then they'd both fallen in love with the same woman, an actress, and it had destroyed their friendship.

'Did you ever feel jealousy, Mr Doyle?' Mr Bodie asked, as they sat together in the garden one afternoon, watching Arthur playing with his French nurse. When Ray didn't answer immediately, he went on: 'No, of course not. You never felt love.'

 _Yes I did,_ Ray thought fiercely. _I felt such love as you're probably not capable of feeling._ But he knew immediately that wasn't true. Mr Bodie was, or had been, a passionate man. It was obvious from the way he talked.

'Kellar won the lady's heart,' said Mr Bodie. 'They never married, but he gave the child his name when it was born. He died shortly afterwards of a fever.'

He bowed his head. Ray felt sympathy: Kellar had obviously meant a lot to him. For a second, he almost wanted to tell him about Henry, but he knew he couldn't.

'About that time, my elder brother died. My father sent for me. He was growing old by that time and he wanted me to take on some of the duties of the estate, now that I was his heir. I had nothing else to stay in Paris for, so I came home. That was a grave mistake on my part, but never mind about that now. I took over the estate after my father's death, and I took on Arthur Kellar when his mother died. All second-hand goods, Mr Doyle. I've never had anything I could call my own.'

'I'm sorry you feel that way, sir,' said Ray. 'I suppose I am the same, in a sense.'

'Yes, we are two of a kind, you and I,' said Mr Bodie, with a warm smile. 'There are things in both our pasts that we would rather forget. But there is one important difference. You are a good man, Raymond. I am not. Nature intended me, I believe, to be a good man. But my chances at goodness are long past. I spend most of my life in idleness and dissipation. I have neither the strength nor the will for redemption.'

'I don't believe that you are wicked, sir,' Ray said softly.

'Then perhaps that is why I like having you around me, Raymond.' He paused, then went on: 'Do you mind if I use your Christian name?'

'No, sir, not at all. But I'm usually called Ray.'

'Very well. Suits you, that.'

'Thank you.'

* * * * *

It was an unseasonably cold night in June when Ray was awoken by the sound of the strange laugh he often heard on his way past the attic rooms. He'd never heard it at any other time, and it startled him -- chilled him. He wondered if any of Mr Bodie's servants had been caught thieving before. They certainly shouldn't be creeping about the corridors at this hour, whatever the hour was. Tutting to himself, he opened his bedroom door and poked his head out, just in time to see the end of a nightdress disappearing through the door at the west end of the corridor. On the floor, a few yards down in the other direction, there was a candle. And to Ray's horror, he could see smoke winding around the corner. He ran, picked up the candle, and hurried to see where it was coming from. As he had feared, it was escaping under Mr Bodie's bedroom door.

Without another thought, Ray burst into the room. Mr Bodie was fast asleep, still half-dressed, and the curtains of his four-poster bed were blazing.

'Sir, wake up!' Ray shouted. He grabbed a pitcher of water from the bedside table and threw it over one of the curtains. The water also soaked Mr Bodie, who woke, gasping, and momentarily disoriented. Ray grabbed his arm and yanked him into a sitting position.

'Your bedroom's on fire, sir! Wake _up!_ '

Mr Bodie came to his senses. Leaping out of bed, he tore down one of the curtains and smothered the flames. Seeing that he was definitely all right, Ray followed his lead, and they had the fire out in minutes. Both gasping, and coughing from the flames, Ray slightly damp and his master considerably wetter, they stood and stared at each other. He started to come down from the panic, and the rush of what they'd done. He took in how Mr Bodie looked.

He was handsome enough fully dressed and well groomed; but dishevelled, he was devastating. For some reason, the sight of him unshaven with messed-up hair was incredibly attractive to Ray. His shirt was coming untucked, and it was unlaced at the top, making his neck look longer and more graceful than when he was done up almost to the chin in collar and cravat. No jacket hid the way his cream-coloured breeches clung to his legs, hips and backside, accentuating his well-formed figure.

'Are you all right, Mr Bodie?' Ray asked breathlessly. He needed this frozen moment to be over. If he stared at him for too much longer he was afraid he'd become noticeably aroused.

'I think,' Mr Bodie said slowly, 'that considering what's happened tonight, we can dispense with formalities when we're alone, and acting as equals.'

'But I don't know your first name,' Ray replied, coughing.

'It's William,' he said, 'but I don't use it. Call me Bodie.'

'It suits you better than William,' said Ray. He felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn up in a smile he couldn't stop. It seemed so ridiculous for them to be having this conversation at a time like this. But then Mist-- _Bodie_ \-- began to cough violently, and Ray was vividly reminded of Henry, and it was a cry of anguish he had to choke back. For he was suddenly, acutely, devastatingly aware of how he felt about Bodie. The ache that had been growing gradually inside him over the past few months exploded into full-on pain. It was stronger than the love he'd felt for Henry, stronger than the deepest hate he'd felt for his aunt, or for Mr Parker. It was stronger than anything he'd felt in his life, and it was all directed towards this man in front of him, who couldn't have been more unattainable if he'd been a god, and Ray a demon underling who crawled in the depths of hell.

'Bodie ... are you ...'

Bodie stopped coughing. His eyes were red and watering from the smoke and exertion. He took a few deep, gulping breaths.

'For God's sake!' he choked. 'Come to the drawing room ... need a drink ... both of us ...'

He grabbed Ray's arm and ushered him out of the bedroom. He marched him along the corridor, not stopping until he reached the drawing room. He poured Ray a glass of brandy and thrust it into his hand.

'Listen,' he said. 'Stay here. Don't move. Will you promise?'

'Yes, I promise,' Ray said, frowning, 'but ...'

'I'll be back shortly,' said Bodie, and hurried from the room. Ray stood there, sipping his brandy, glad of the heat it spread through his body, but he was still shivering with cold. He wouldn't have known how to move at that moment, even had he been inclined to disobey orders. He was too bewildered, too churned up with feeling.

A voice in his head was chanting: _I love him ... I love him ... I love him ... he nearly died ... I love him ... he could have died ... oh, Christ, I love him so much ..._

Ray finished off his brandy and poured himself another. He was halfway through it when Bodie came back into the room.

'I'm sorry to have left you in the cold,' he said. 'But I had to make sure ... that is ...'

'Bodie, it must have been one of the servants,' Ray said, setting down his glass and taking a few steps towards his employer. His words came all in a rush. 'I heard an odd laugh -- I got up, saw someone -- a woman, I think -- disappearing down the corridor as I looked out. I might have followed, but I saw the smoke, and all I could think of was ...'

'Oh God, Ray!'

Bodie suddenly came forward, closing the gap between them, and grabbed Ray in a rib-threatening hug. Ray returned it by reflex action, even before he knew what he was doing, but once it dawned on him he clung on, determined to relish every second, certain that it would never happen again.

'I can't bear this,' Bodie muttered into Ray's shoulder. 'I can't do this much longer. God help me, I ...'

He stepped back and stared at Ray, clearly mortified. Ray wanted to reassure him, but he didn't know how.

'I apologise,' he said stiffly. 'I just lost my nerve for a moment.'

'It's quite all right,' Ray answered, because it was, and he wished Bodie hadn't come to his senses quite so quickly.

'You are my friend, are you not?' Bodie asked. He sounded charmingly timid for a moment, not his usual smooth, arrogant self.

'Of course I am.'

'You saved my life. I owe you a debt.'

'Nonsense,' said Ray.

Bodie smiled. Then he came forward again, took Ray by the shoulders, and spoke to him in a hushed, urgent voice.

'It's all fixed. I know who did this, but she won't trouble us again. Trust me, Ray.'

'There's a woman who sews regularly in the attic rooms. Mary Waters. I'm sure it is she who laughs like that.'

'Mary Waters. Yes.'

'Well? Aren't you going to dismiss her?'

'Ray ...'

'For God's sake, Bodie, why not? Has she some hold over you?'

'You don't understand,' Bodie said quietly, almost sullenly. 'You'll just have to trust me. No one will harm you. Or me. Not again. I called you my friend and I shan't go back on that, Ray, but do not forget which of us is master of this house.'

'Of course not, sir,' Ray answered.

'Very well. Now, you should go to bed. The servants will be up in an hour to begin their work. You must not give any hint that you know what happened here tonight. As far as the household is concerned, I was careless with a candle. Do you understand?'

'Well, yes -- but what about you? Where are you going to sleep?'

'I'll do very well here. The couch is comfortable.'

Ray nodded. 'Well. Good night, sir -- good night, Bodie.'

He turned to go.

'Ray? You're not really going?'

Ray looked back. Bodie looked lost, suddenly. Ray wanted to rush over and take him in his arms. He wondered what Bodie would do if he did.

'I'll stay if you wish,' he said. 'But it might be rather difficult to convince people that I know nothing of the incident.'

'You're right. You're right. Go.'

'Good night,' said Ray, and left before Bodie could tempt him again to stay.


	11. Chapter 11

Ray did not sleep when he returned to his room. He lay in bed, his arms behind his head, and he thought about Bodie. He thought about how he'd realised he felt. He thought of his own words to Bodie a few days ago: 'I do not believe that you are wicked.' They echoed what he had said of himself to Mr Parker, so many years ago now.

He'd come to believe he was wicked since then. He'd been convinced that his feelings for Henry Chapman were dark and unnatural. His baser instincts had not functioned properly after Henry's last illness. His desire to masturbate had been infrequent, and when he'd tried, he'd found himself impotent.

It wasn't only guilt over his adolescent desire for boys. Even what he would have considered his 'normal' function was impeded by the ghosts of his childhood. At the pub near Pinegrove, when he was twenty-one, his flirting with Annette Bates, the barmaid, had culminated in the loss of his virginity. He'd been optimistic then, finally feeling more like a normal man. But that had changed when they'd reached her bedroom. She'd had to coax his cock into erection, and he had felt little satisfaction in climax, only a painful, consuming hunger for more, and at the same time a gnawing feeling that what he was doing was dirty and wrong. Annette had been happy to oblige him all night, accepting him willingly every time the feeling came on him, but he'd felt guilty for days afterwards, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to enter the pub for a fortnight. When he did, he avoided Annette's eyes, and by the time he dared to look at her again, she was ignoring him in favour of the baker's son.

The only other time he tried it was when he was in London, because Maurice found him a willing woman and he didn't want to be laughed at for refusing her. But when she brought him back to her room, he couldn't stay hard long enough to penetrate her. She'd been upset. Thought it was her. He couldn't have explained without telling her his life story, so he'd left without a word.

By that time, he'd accepted that he might never be able to perform like a normal man. He had hoped that perhaps, when he met the right girl and got married, within the sanctity of that sacrament the feelings of guilt might go away. The trouble was, he'd never managed to fall in love. He had begun to fear that he would be forever tied to Henry's memory, and never feel love again -- until he met Bodie. Then, his falling in love had been gradual, and fraught with constant denial, so that it was only tonight that he'd fully admitted to himself what he had long been feeling. He had refused to allow his body to respond to what he knew was a deep-seated desire for the master of Bramblewood.

They'd embraced tonight. It had been friendly, nothing untoward. Bodie had sought comfort and Ray had given it, delighted that his employer, of whom he thought so much, considered him a friend, and pleased to be able to make him feel better.

But when he lay in bed and thought about it, intending merely to savour a perfectly chaste memory of being close to a man he loved, Ray felt his body stir with an intensity that it had not done in years. He became so hard, so fast, that he moaned out loud. Desire overtook him; he didn't stop to think, didn't even stop to feel guilty. Wrenching his nightshirt out of the way, he took hold of his straining cock and brought himself off in firm, rapid strokes. In his imagination, the hand on him was Bodie's, and it was barely a minute before he climaxed, biting his lip till it bled to keep from crying out. Afterwards he lay gasping and shuddering, his stomach covered in the outpouring of his loins. He felt warm, despite the chilly air on his half-naked body. Warm, and deliciously relaxed, and ...

Dirty. Wicked. _Desolate._

He was alone. But he deserved to be. What man would so debase himself? What woman would accept him? And even if one ever did, could Ray, in good conscience, promise to love her above all others, to be faithful in mind and in body?

Angrily, Ray shook himself free of his nightshirt, which was bunched up around his shoulders. He got out of bed in a rush, washed in cold water, scrubbed himself almost raw, but he could still feel, or imagine he felt, the semen cooling on his body. He could smell it in the air and it made him sick.

 _God, I prayed so hard to be rid of this,_ he thought miserably, as he dressed. _I suppose he answered my prayers, making it so I couldn't do it with anyone. And now I have sinned as wickedly as ever._

Why did love have to be so bittersweet? Even as he hated himself for it, he wanted Bodie: not necessarily to touch, just his presence. Every minute they weren't in the same room, Ray missed him. Sometimes it felt so pure, so beautiful -- why did his body have to betray him so?

 _There's nothing else for it,_ he thought. _I have to leave._

But his resolution was ruined by the sound of Bodie's voice in his head, as clearly as if he were really in the room, speaking just as he had last night.

 _'Ray, you're not really going?'_

Bodie was his friend. And he was troubled. Someone, probably that Mary Waters, had it in for him, and for some reason, he couldn't send her away. How could Ray leave him at a time like this? It was unthinkable. Not that Bodie couldn't take care of himself -- he had been a soldier, for heaven's sake -- but Ray couldn't help feeling a strange sort of protective instinct towards him.

Having finished dressing, Ray went in search of Bodie. On the way downstairs, he met Mrs Harrison, who was full of the story of how the master had been careless with a candle. The servants were clearing the mess in his bedroom now.

'Is Mary Waters among them?' Ray couldn't resist asking. His voice must have been too sharp, because Mrs Harrison frowned at him.

'Why yes, since you ask. Did you want her for something, Mr Doyle?'

'Indeed no, madam, I merely wondered,' Ray hedged. 'Actually, I had hoped to speak with the master; is he about?'

'I'm afraid Mr Bodie breakfasted early and rode over to see Sir William Holly. I expect we shall soon be receiving orders to prepare the place for guests!' Mrs Harrison seemed excited at the thought.

'I see,' said Ray. 'Well, thank you, Mrs Harrison. I think I shall go myself to breakfast now.'

They nodded at each other, and passed on in opposite directions. Ray walked quickly, trying to squash his disappointment. Why, today of all days, did Bodie have to go to the Hollys'? Ray had heard the servants' gossip, and Mrs Harrison had speculated openly often enough, about Bodie's intentions towards Sir William's daughter, Ann. She was, by all accounts, a famous local beauty, a fact that was expected to override the complication of Sir William's knighthood being only recently bestowed, the Hollys being "new money," and therefore frowned upon by all except the most penniless of the gentry. It had further been expected that Bodie would bring a large party of friends, including the Hollys, back to Bramblewood once the weather became better suited to entertaining. That he'd left it as late as June to extend his invitation -- for why else would Bodie have ridden over to see Sir William on such a dreary morning? -- was as much a surprise to Ray as anyone else. But unlike the housekeeper, Ray did not relish the prospect of Bramblewood being filled with guests. He'd hardly see Bodie for weeks. And if he proposed to Miss Holly, Ray would lose him altogether. He was firmly resolved that he would seek employment elsewhere if Bodie brought a bride into the house.

Bodie returned home that evening, and announced to Ray and Mrs Harrison, both of whom he'd summoned to the library, that he would be leaving again in two days' time, to join a house party with friends in Hertfordshire. On the first of August he would be bringing the party back to Bramblewood. Ray tried his best to look pleased, and made some inane remark about how excited Arthur would be to meet new people.

'I dare say he will,' Bodie said. 'I am glad you mentioned Arthur to me actually, Mr Doyle, for it puts me in mind of a matter relative to his lessons that I wish to discuss with you. Mrs Harrison, if you wouldn't mind leaving us?'

'Of course, sir,' said Mrs Harrison. She took herself, and her needlework, out of the room. Bodie gave Ray a friendly smile, but Ray wasn't going to let him off that easily.

'Bodie,' he said, in a hushed voice. 'Mary Waters was in your room today, helping the other servants put things to rights! Bold as brass, she was! How can you allow it?'

'If you remember, I asked you not to question me on that subject,' Bodie replied coldly. 'Can we drop it, please?'

'Yes sir,' Ray answered, similarly cold. There was an awkward silence, but then Bodie smiled at him again as if nothing had happened, and this time, Ray couldn't resist smiling back.

'Shall you miss me when I am gone, Ray?' Bodie asked.

Inwardly, the pang Ray felt in his heart at the thought of Bodie being gone, answered the question for him.

'Why yes, of course, sir,' he said, in an amiable manner. 'I enjoy our conversations. And though I am sure you will be far too busy when you return to continue them for a while, I shall look forward to seeing you again.'

'Too busy?' Bodie repeated. For a moment Ray's heart soared, for he fancied Bodie looked surprised that he would think him too busy to spend time with him. But the next words Bodie spoke put paid to that.

'But of course,' he said, with a hint of smugness. 'I shall be entertaining Miss Holly. I am sure you have heard the servants discussing her as my potential bride.'

'Indeed, sir. Would it be indelicate of me to ask if there were any truth in those rumours?'

'Do you find it so odd that I should wish to marry?'

'Odd? No, sir!'

'Perhaps not,' said Bodie. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. 'I do, as it happens, yearn to promise my soul to another. Is that so terrible, Ray? Could you not think of doing that yourself?'

'To the right person -- yes, sir,' Ray answered truthfully. He couldn't help dropping his eyes. He was sure that if he looked at Bodie just then, the _whole_ truth would be quite clear, and he couldn't afford for that to happen.

'There,' said Bodie, leaning forward eagerly. 'You _do_ understand. Think of it, Ray. Your life has been quite sheltered compared with mine. But you could, I am sure, put yourself in my shoes. Imagine that you are a youth again. Your heart is raw from a lost love.'

 _I can imagine that easily,_ Ray thought, and had to swallow a lump in his throat.

'You are strong in body, yet vulnerable in heart and mind. And you commit, shall we say, a capital error. The fault is not yours, and it is not a _crime_ you commit, but you must live forever with the consequences.'

Ray nodded to show he followed. The feelings involved were easy to comprehend, but he hadn't a clue about the circumstances. He'd almost always known that there was something dark in Bodie's past, but Bodie had never been specific about it, and Ray hadn't dared to press him. He was tempted now, especially since he strongly suspected that Mary Waters had something to do with it, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Perhaps Bodie would tell him of his own accord.

'You think that you can no longer have real feelings. That your innocence is spent. That you can no longer take true pleasure in the world -- that your only refuge is hedonism. You are beyond the pale, beyond hope of redemption. But then you meet someone. Never mind how, or where, or when. And that person reminds you that you're alive. The sins of your past cease to matter to you. You find you can smile and laugh wholeheartedly again. You begin to feel your life has a purpose. You feel joy when this person is around, but not only joy; you feel -- satisfied. You feel a deep-seated contentment, and you know that if only you could be near this person always, that contentment would flower into the fullest and most perfect happiness that a human being can know.

'And you know without asking that the object of your affections feels the same way you do, because you can tell their thoughts and feelings by instinct: you know them completely because their soul has opened itself to yours, and yours to theirs. Would you allow a mere obstacle of custom to detain you from joining yourself to them, body and soul? Would you let yourself be impaired by societal conventions that have no logic behind them, only centuries of stagnated tradition? Prejudices, to which you do not yourself subscribe? How can feelings so strong and pure be wrong, Ray? Would you not dare the world's opinion, risk your very life, to live out the rest of your days in a manner more suited to immortals?'

It was the longest speech Bodie had made in Ray's hearing, and he was starting to imagine that the walls were closing in around him. He found he could hardly breathe. To hear Bodie speak so of Miss Holly confirmed everything he had ever believed about his employer being a man of great feeling, and despite himself, he admired him for it. But to hear so much of what he felt for Bodie echoed back at him, but meant in the direction of another, was almost unbearable. The heat from the nearby fire was suddenly too much. He fancied the room was filling with smoke, like Bodie's bedroom last night, and if he didn't get out soon he would choke. But Bodie was looking at him expectantly, and he knew he had to give some sort of answer.

'Forgive me, sir, if I cannot give an adequate response, as I am rather tired,' he began, speaking slowly and stiffly for fear that his voice would start shaking if he did not keep himself under tight control. 'But I hope I might aid your decision by assuring you, that if I were ever to have such a chance at happiness, I would not allow custom, nor convention, nor prejudice, to stand in my way.'

He knew it was true as he said it, and at such an admission, something broke inside him. What was there between him and raw pain, if the Christian morality that had guided him since his days at Pinegrove were not there to cushion him against his feelings for Bodie? He knew full well that if Bodie loved _him_ instead of Miss Holly, he wouldn't give another thought to what his religion taught him about relations between men. He would spend eternity in hell for one lifetime with Bodie. He'd have dared God's wrath for Henry if he had not been ill, damned himself at fourteen to be touched by that beautiful boy, his first and most cherished friend, who'd said he loved him better than anyone in the world, and whom he'd loved so much in return. And Ray's feelings for Bodie were infinitely stronger.

Bodie was watching him now, and his expression was unreadable. Ray hoped he didn't look as miserable as he felt. He didn't want Bodie to realise anything was wrong. It would be too hard to explain.

'Would you confess your feelings then, Ray?' Bodie asked.

Ray forced himself to think along the lines of proposing to a woman. He supposed he _would_ confess his feelings in such a situation. If the object of his love were a woman, there would always be hope of being accepted. And Miss Holly would have to be mad not to want Bodie.

'I should be nervous of doing so,' he answered, again, speaking more slowly than usual. 'But ...'

'You want me to be happy, Ray, don't you?' Bodie interrupted. His eyes seemed very large, and very blue, and very beautiful, and Ray felt like he might weep, because he wanted to be free to drown in them, and he could never lay claim to that right. But he wouldn't have hurt Bodie for the world. He had to tell him what he wanted to hear.

'You're right, of course,' he said hastily. 'You will see Miss Holly soon -- talk to her, I would, sir. Don't allow her lack of connections to affect your decision.'

'Miss Holly,' Bodie said, and his tone as he spoke her name was wistful, even pained. When he looked at Ray, his expression was, for a second, inexplicably hostile. Then his face became inscrutable again.

'I'm sorry to have kept you so long if you're tired,' he said. 'It's no wonder if you are, after your disturbed night last night. I shall always be very grateful to you, my friend.'

'It was nothing,' Ray replied. 'But before I go, sir, wasn't there something you wanted to ask me about Arthur's lessons?'

'I'm sorry,' said Bodie. 'I'm afraid it's quite escaped me. I'm sure I'll remember if it's as important as all that. I shall speak to you about it another time.'

'Very well,' said Ray. 'Good night, sir.'

As he lay in bed that night, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion, the thought that in two days Bodie would be gone was actually a comfort to him. Perhaps in a month's time, when Bodie brought his new love home, Ray might have managed to suppress his feelings.


	12. Chapter 12

Young Arthur Kellar looked forward to August 1st as eagerly as Ray dreaded it. His separation from Bodie was painful, but he hated the thought of him returning with a large party of guests who would think of him not as an equal, like Bodie did, but only just better than a servant. He would have to be deferential, and he was unused to that. It was stupid, and he knew it, but even anticipating the next three weeks was humiliating.

It was mid-morning when Ray stood at the dining room window with Arthur and Mrs Harrison, watching the carriages pull up. He saw Bodie get out of the foremost one, and despite himself felt a little rush of joy at seeing him again. But that joy soon faded when he saw Bodie helping a tall, elegant, red haired lady down from the carriage.

'That's her,' said Mrs Harrison. 'Miss Ann Holly.'

'Oh, qu'elle est jolie!' Arthur exclaimed.

'She is, very pretty,' agreed Ray. He thought so more and more as he watched her. She was of a higher rank than he, of course, but she was attractive, and charming, and intelligent-looking. He didn't look at her and feel hate.

They were introduced that evening, because Bodie wanted his guests to meet Arthur, and Ray went as his chaperone. Bodie, as Ray had expected, ignored him all night in favour of Miss Holly. But Miss Holly, somewhat to Ray's satisfaction, glanced over at _him_ a couple of times. Even more to Ray's satisfaction, this really seemed to annoy Bodie. So he didn't make excuses to leave, as he had expected to want to do, and he didn't complain when Bodie told him he wanted him in the drawing room every evening, whether Arthur was there or not.

On the third night, Miss Holly declined an offer to play whist, and came to join Ray while Bodie sat down to cards with her parents and elder sister.

'So you are young Arthur's tutor?' she asked, even though she knew the answer.

'I am, Miss Holly,' Ray replied politely.

'And how do you get on with him? Bodie says he is not bright, but that you have taken great pains with him.'

'I do my best, Miss.'

'I'm sure you do,' replied Miss Holly, and Ray detected a definite note of flirtation in her voice. What was more, he watched throughout the evening as Bodie's mood grew blacker and blacker. It was only when he was in bed the following night that he started to feel a bit guilty about it all. Miss Holly was treating Bodie abominably. She'd admitted to Ray that she was trying to make him jealous, because that was the best way to make a man propose quickly. She didn't seem to consider Ray's feelings at all, but he was too far gone on Bodie, and too devoid of expectations where Miss Holly was concerned, to let that touch him. Her ploy was obviously succeeding -- Bodie looked jealous as hell. But somehow Ray thought, contrary to appearances, that there must be pride rather than love at the root of it, because when Miss Holly _did_ pay attention to Bodie, it was by no means obvious in his responses that he loved her as much as he'd told Ray he did. He flirted; he paid her compliments, he concentrated all his focus on her. But it looked like duty, not pleasure. Or was that just what Ray wanted to see?

 _No, it's not,_ he told himself firmly. _I know I can't have him. But his happiness still means everything to me. I'd hate to see him marry a woman he doesn't love, just to join two great estates together. But the way he spoke of her before she came -- surely that must be love? Yet it doesn't look like it. And she doesn't love him, I'm sure of it. She's cold as ice, that one. I doubt she could love anyone wholeheartedly._

He was relieved to be able to arrive at that knowledge dispassionately. Miss Holly was just the kind of woman he could see himself falling for, if circumstances were different. He thought that again the next day, as he sat on one of the stone seats in the garden, and watched her playing quoits with her sister, while her parents strolled nearby, and a couple of the gentlemen tried to teach Arthur to play football. Ray's sketchbook was on his knee, and he absently moved his pencil over the paper, trying to capture Miss Holly's features. But when he looked at what he'd drawn, he saw that his mind had betrayed him. The face was Bodie's. Irritably, he slammed the book shut -- and not a moment too soon, because Bodie appeared seemingly from nowhere, and joined him. It was the first time in days that they'd sat together and talked.

'What do you think of Bramblewood in summer, Ray?' he asked.

'It's very picturesque,' Ray replied.

'Were you sketching?'

'For a while. I'm not in the mood today.'

'Ah, artistic temperament, eh?'

'Something like that.'

'May I see some of your sketches?' Bodie asked. His voice was suddenly stiff and polite, but with a slight hint of command that made Ray want to refuse, only he didn't want Bodie to think him childish.

'If you will be a gentleman about it and not look where the bookmark is.'

'Today's failed masterpiece?'

'Today's attempt, yes. Will you promise?'

'Of course.'

Ray believed him, so he handed over the book. He'd had it a long time, because he'd never had time to do much sketching. John Kirk had given it to him when he'd become a teacher at Pinegrove. He watched, unaccountably nervous, as Bodie flicked through, perusing the various drawings and the occasional experiment with paint.

'From where did you copy these?' he asked, looking with some surprise at the more fantastic scenes, including a rendition of Prometheus' torment that Ray had enjoyed infusing with violence after a particularly bad day.

'I didn't. I drew the images that came into my head.'

'Were you happy when you did them?'

Ray shrugged. 'Drawing is one of the keenest pleasures I've ever known.'

'That does not say much -- your pleasures by your own account have been few.'

'I have been contented enough,' Ray answered shortly, taking back the book and closing it firmly. How dare Bodie ask after his happiness, when ... no. He couldn't suppress an irritable sigh. Bodie dared because to him, they were good friends, and he had a right to be concerned. Naturally enough, Bodie assumed that the sigh was directed at him, and his mouth went into a thin line.

'I'm sorry to have interrupted your solitude; clearly you did not wish to be disturbed,' he snapped. 'Before I go, allow me to assume temporarily the role of butler, or perhaps mail carrier, and deliver to you this letter. It was brought to me at breakfast and I quite forgot to give it to you before now.'

'Thank you, Bodie, I'm very grateful,' Ray said, trying to inject warmth into his voice, show Bodie it was really all right. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting him. He attempted to smile, and Bodie's lips twitched in response.

'May I sit here for a while?' he asked. 'I shall not press you about your artistic pursuits.'

'You hardly need to ask; it's your garden, your seat,' said Ray, impatiently.

'Why, Ray, you wound me! I have been trying to address you more courteously since we first met, when you took such exception to direct orders. Am I not doing well?'

'Very well, sir,' Ray replied, smiling properly. Bodie's light tone had melted what was left of the ice between them. Bodie smiled back, and took to watching the ladies, while Ray opened his letter and began to read.

 _Dear Raymond,_

 _We have not met in many years, but we did live together when we were children. I am your cousin Emily. One of your old colleagues at Pinegrove was kind enough to give me your address. I write to beg that you will come to my mother's house as soon as you are packed. She has had a stroke, and it is not expected that she will live long. She has been asking for you ever since she recovered the ability to speak. It is clearly very important that she sees you before the end, and I can only ask that you forget any bad feeling that might remain between you and she, and oblige a dying lady._

 _Hoping that we shall see you as soon as possible I remain  
Your affectionate cousin,  
Emily Renwick, née Phillips._

Ray refolded the letter and placed it in the inside pocket of his under-coat, with every semblance of calm. Inside, however, he was in turmoil. What could he do? On one hand he would like nothing better to get away from Bramblewood until Bodie's guests had left. On the other, the idea of being separated from Bodie was horrible to him. And to return to his aunt's house, to see a woman he hated, just because she'd asked for him? Was he to be once more at her beck and call, even on a temporary basis? It was insufferable! But then again, who was he to refuse to 'oblige a dying lady,' as Emily had put it in her letter? The worst thing was, if only Bodie weren't preoccupied with his guests, Ray would have liked to talk it over with him.

 _But he has come to join me here of his own free will,_ he considered. _I am still his friend, even if_ they _only see a lowly schoolmaster when they look at me. I should …_

'So now, Ray,' Bodie interrupted his thoughts, 'you will tell me what you think of Miss Holly, perhaps? Now that you have seen my lovely one, I may speak freely of her. She is a rare one, is she not?'

'She is a very pretty young lady, sir,' Ray replied.

'A strapper! A real strapper. Or do I put it too crudely?'

'Not at all, sir; you are hardly addressing a schoolgirl.'

Bodie ignored Ray's snide remark, and went on with one of his own. 'Indeed, I see she has commanded _your_ attention in the evenings.'

'Since you insist on my presence in the drawing room every evening, whether I wish to be there or not, I would assume you wish me to be polite to your guests. Or am I there to be humiliated, Bodie, is that it? You wish to remind me of my station, even though you have called me friend?'

'Nonsense!' Bodie snapped. 'I mean nothing of the sort. You will forgive some jealousy on my part, perhaps, even though that emotion is alien to _your_ nature?'

'Oh, you would love to think so!' Ray nearly shouted. He jumped to his feet, drawing amused gazes from Bodie's guests, so strong had been his instinct to get away. In the heat of the moment he had almost said too much. To his outrage, Bodie grabbed his arm and pulled him back down onto the seat.

'I apologise,' he said hastily. 'Do not cause a scene here. You will humiliate yourself more than I could ever manage -- and if I did, Ray, I promise you it was unintentional. Will you forgive me? I intruded upon your reflections; you had just read your letter, and you looked troubled, but I ignored it because I wished to talk. Will you tell me about it? As your friend, I shall listen, and not prattle on like a simpleton. How will that be?'

'I will tell you about it,' said Ray, 'as it does concern you, though indirectly. But could we go inside, sir? It is a private matter and I would not wish to be overheard.'

'As you wish, my friend,' Bodie answered. He stood up and politely waved Ray in front of him. He made no excuses to his guests; he simply walked with Ray towards the house, with no attempt to make conversation. But as they reached the house, and headed for the library, they met Mrs Harrison, who accosted them.

'Forgive me, sir, but a gentleman has arrived to see you. A Mr Mason. I have put him in the library, sir. I hope I did right.'

'Very good, Mrs Harrison,' said Bodie. They nodded to one another and the housekeeper passed on. As soon as she was out of sight, Bodie's expression changed from its normal casual arrogance to angry, and upset. His face, always pale, now looked quite grey, and his eyes seemed to have darkened with worry.

'Bodie?' Ray asked anxiously, laying a hand on his arm. Bodie shook him off.

'I'm sorry, Ray; our conversation will have to wait. Mr Mason is an old friend, and undoubtedly he has travelled some distance to see me. I must attend to him.'

'Does the arrival of a friend usually make you look like that?' Ray persisted. 'Come on, Bodie, you can tell me.'

'No, Ray, I can't. This is between Mason and me. We'll talk about your letter when I've spoken to him. I'll come and find you.'

'But …' Ray started to argue. But Bodie was already striding away from him.


	13. Chapter 13

Richard Mason, whose father had briefly gone into business with Bodie's father, joined the company for dinner that evening, and Bodie announced that he would be staying the night. Ray knew this because he was, for the first time, invited to join them.

'The schoolmaster, indeed!' Mrs Holly whispered, as Ray entered the room. He nodded at Ann, but she turned her face away: little wonder, since he had not responded to her advances after the first couple of days. Then, he'd been flattered, and he'd enjoyed getting a rise out of Bodie. But since then, his loyalty to his employer had overridden any pleasure he had got out of flirting with a rich woman, and he'd been only coldly polite to her.

'Sit here by me,' Bodie told Ray, indicating the place to his left. Ray, for once, did not comment on the curt, commanding tone, and sat down obediently. Whether Bodie was trying to make some point to his guests, or make Ray feel better after his near-loss of temper earlier in the day, or whether he just wanted a friend nearby, it didn't matter. He obviously needed him for some reason, and that was good enough for the moment. Ray found himself opposite Mason, and hoped he wouldn't have to make conversation with him. It seemed that he was a businessman, and Ray knew nothing of such things. He liked to acquire knowledge, but he hated looking like a fool.

Mason, however, proved to be a genial guest, and kept the whole company amused throughout the meal. He was a merchant, and travelled a good deal, so he had a good many stories to tell. Bodie was in a rather malicious mood, and made fun of his guests in discreet whispers to Ray, while the others were distracted by Mason. He was capable of being very funny when he wanted to be, and Ray found himself fighting great bursts of laughter that would have embarrassed them both. After a while, he felt comfortable joining in, and he could tell he was having the same effect on Bodie. The annoyance on the guests' faces when they saw their host thick as thieves with the schoolmaster was balm to Ray's spirit, and the sparkle in Bodie's eyes made him feel rather drunk. It made him forget, for a couple of hours, the two things that were troubling him: one, why hearing of Mason's arrival had worried Bodie so, and two, whether or not he should go and visit Mrs Phillips.

'I must speak with Mason on a matter of business,' he told Ray in a low voice, 'but you'll come and speak to me later, won't you? Come to the library at ten.'

Bodie and Mason did not come to the drawing room after dinner, so Ray took the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, while the younger Miss Holly played and sang at the piano. Having two hours to himself, and it being a clear evening, he decided to go up on the roof and wait for the stars. As he passed the attic rooms, he heard the strange laugh again, mingled with other peculiar noises, and it sent a chill down his spine. Then silence; a door opened, and Mary Waters came out into the corridor. She looked startled when she saw Ray.

'Why do you laugh so, Mrs Waters?' he asked, unable to keep all of the revulsion out of his voice -- after all, this was the woman who'd tried to kill Bodie. 'Are you ill?'

Mary Waters, whom Mrs Harrison had mentioned liked a drink rather too often, held up a jug of ale and smirked impudently.

'This'll cure it, Mr Doyle,' she said, and walked off without another word. Ray shuddered and went on his way. He soon forgot Mary Waters, however, in the face of what was a truly beautiful evening. He lay on his back on the roof, watching twilight turn to night, and daydreamed, stopping occasionally to think of Mrs Phillips and why she might have asked for him.

'Only one way to find out,' he murmured. 'If Bodie consents to release me, I'll go.'

At a quarter to ten, Ray came in off the roof and headed for the library. To his relief, the attic rooms were quite silent when he passed them. Mason and Bodie were coming out of the library just as he approached. Bodie had taken his under-coat off and loosened his collar, and was looking quite beautiful with his neck exposed, and his trim waist more than usually visible.

'I do not think tonight would be sensible,' Bodie was saying. 'Trust me, Richard, the mornings are the best times.'

'Well, all right,' said Mason. He glanced uneasily at Ray, though Ray couldn't imagine why he should make Mason nervous. 'Until tomorrow then, Bodie.'

Nodding at them both, he walked down the corridor and out of sight. Ray looked around at Bodie. He was looking drained, but he managed a smile.

'Come in, Ray,' he said. The words sounded like a sigh. Ray walked past him into the library, where a fire was burning despite the warmth of the night.

'Stifling in here, isn't it?' Bodie said cheerfully, as he poured some water on the fire. 'Mason's been in the West Indies, so he shivers in our mild evenings. Feel free to take your coat off, Ray; I'll open the windows.'

Ray slipped off the garment and folded it over the back of a chair. Bodie looked around at him from the last window he was opening and eyed him appraisingly.

'You're a well-made man,' he said.

'Am I?'

'Yes,' Bodie answered, nodding. 'Forgive me, but it's easier to judge without the under-coat, and I took the opportunity to observe you.'

'Not at all,' said Ray. 'I suppose I might return the compliment, but I fear it would ring false, as a token gesture.'

'But would you be sincere?' Bodie asked. For a tiny moment, Ray fancied it actually mattered to him, but the flicker of whatever-it-was on Bodie's face disappeared too quickly for him to tell.

'I have too much respect for you to be otherwise,' said Ray, who was made reckless by the pleasantness of his evening of solitude, and thus prepared to be frank. 'You are probably the handsomest man I have ever seen.'

Bodie's eyes dropped momentarily, revealing the gorgeous sweep of his eyelashes. When he looked up again, he was smiling.

'Thank you,' he said. 'I am glad we can say such things to each other. Women, I believe, discuss each other's looks, so why not men?'

'Quite,' said Ray.

'I was in the army, remember,' Bodie went on. 'At war particularly, there is little else to look at, and there are many opportunities to observe, and to discuss. Many of the lads were quite innocent -- they did not know the manner in which some men look at others. That is, wishing to touch as well as look.'

'Oh, I see,' said Ray. He hoped he wouldn't blush, because he knew how Bodie would take it. Poor innocent little Ray, such a sheltered life he'd led, now scandalised and embarrassed at the thought of men being attracted to each other. Still, insulting as that was, surely that assumption was better than the truth.

'I should think you do see; you went to a boarding school!' Bodie said laughingly, shattering Ray's misgivings in one sentence. 'I was a soldier rather than a scholar, but I soon learnt.'

Ray was sure he could not have mistaken the significance of Bodie's words. He wished his stomach wouldn't twist so.

'Do you mean you …' he began, helpless against the tide of his own curiosity.

'What? That I touched voluntarily, or _was_ touched, _in_ voluntarily?' Bodie's eyebrow rose in an amused expression. 'Which would trouble you the most?'

'Naturally the latter,' Ray answered, offended. 'What do you take me for?'

'Exactly what you are,' said Bodie, with a kinder smile. 'I was teasing you.'

'Some joke,' Ray snapped.

Bodie frowned. 'I'm sorry; you don't mean to tell me that you …'

'I was never violated,' Ray assured him quickly.

'Well, neither was I,' said Bodie.

They exchanged a long, silent look, and Ray had the feeling that a whole conversation was happening between them. The trouble was, could he be certain of what he and Bodie had just told each other? And what had Bodie thought was said? How was he looking at Ray now? Ray wasn't sure whether to believe what his instincts were screaming at him. He wished they weren't screaming for joy. They would only add to his disappointment later, when it all turned out to be a misunderstanding.

'Ray,' Bodie said, in a voice that was slightly unsteady. 'Do you believe that one man can truly love another?'

Ray's breath caught in his throat, but he did not hesitate to reply. He fixed Bodie with a gaze that brooked no misinterpretation.

'With all my heart.'

They both jumped as a crash echoed through the corridors, followed by a peal of laughter. When their eyes met again, they both quickly averted them. A few seconds later, there were some quick footsteps, followed by a knock at the door.

'Come in!' Bodie called.

The door opened, and the younger Miss Holly stuck her head around it. She looked the rather strange combination of amused and frightened that Ray remembered Morwenna Kirk joking about: it was a demeanour, she said, that only the English schoolgirl could sufficiently master.

'Oh dear, Mr Bodie, I'm so very sorry. I'm afraid Mr Hollingsworth upset the vase of flowers atop the piano. Ann was sure you would have heard the crash, and she sent me along to tell you what had happened.'

'Thank you, Mariah. I'm sure Mrs Harrison will see to it.'

Mariah Holly took one last nervous look around the room, then left.

'My dear one sends an emissary for me,' said Bodie, with a wry grin. 'It seems I have not been paying her enough attention this evening.'

'Bodie, I really must speak with you about this letter.'

'Of course. I apologise. Come, let us sit down.'

Ray sat down in a chair opposite Bodie, and told him about Emily Renwick's letter.

'And shall you go?' Bodie asked. His voice was sharp, and Ray thought he might forbid the journey.

'I think that I must,' he said. 'First thing in the morning.'

'Well, at least you don't plan to abandon me in the middle of the night,' said Bodie. 'That is some concession. Though admittedly not much. Will you write to me, and tell me how you're getting on?'

'Of course I will, sir, if you wish,' Ray answered, rather bemusedly. He hadn't expected that, and he was secretly quite pleased about it.

'How are you off for money?'

'I shall have sufficient, once I have been paid this month's wages,' said Ray.

'Mrs Harrison usually deals with such things, does she not?'

'Indeed, sir; I shall see her in the morning.'

'Good. And how long shall you stay away?'

'I hope not more than a week, but it may be longer.'

'And have you thought what _I_ shall do in that time?' Bodie sounded positively petulant now.

'Why, entertain your guests, sir, since they clearly cannot do without you even for an evening,' Ray said with a smile.

Bodie rose from his seat, and paced up and down in a theatrical manner that Ray found utterly endearing.

'I wish them miles away and you not to take a step! Our conversations are the only sensible words spoken in this house!'

'We must all do things we do not like, sir,' Ray answered, smiling half to himself at the word "sensible." He was feeling far too needed to be annoyed at his employer's behaviour, which was very far from reasoned at this moment.

'Indeed,' Bodie said, his words an irritable growl. He sat down again, heavily; the chair creaked under his weight. 'You must leave, if temporarily. And I must marry, which is all too permanent.'

'You do not wish to marry, sir?'

'I told you before that I want nothing more than to promise my soul to another. But I _do not_ wish to be rushed into anything. It seems matters are out of my hands. All around me people scheme and plot, with little concern for my feelings. Never wish yourself a rich man, Ray. It brings nothing but trouble.'

'I am sorry for you, sir,' Ray said, quite sincerely. He could not add how sorry he was for himself. 'I wonder if you would be so kind as to assist me in finding another situation. Once you are married, I assume Arthur will go to school, and there will be no work for me here.'

'I suppose that must be,' said Bodie, nodding miserably. 'Yes, I shall look out for suitable posts. I had not factored that into my wedding preparations, and I thank you for reminding me.'

Ray nodded. 'Then, sir, I must see to my packing. I shall let you return to your guests.'

He stood up, picking up his under-coat, and Bodie stood with him. He followed him to the door, donning his own coat. He caught Ray's arm as he stood on the threshold.

'Ray, you will come back?' he asked anxiously. 'You won't let them tempt you to stay?'

Ray grinned. 'If you knew them, you wouldn't ask me that. Good night, Bodie.' Realising he might not see him again before he left, he added: 'And farewell, for the present.'

'Farewell, Ray, for the present,' Bodie said sourly. 'Is that all the goodbye I am to expect from my friend, then?'

Ray would have loved to hug him until his ribs cracked, but he put out his hand instead. Bodie shook it politely enough, but his expression suggested that Ray had insulted him. Ray had no idea what he had expected. Perhaps Bodie hadn't, either. He went away rather bewildered, and even quite relieved that they wouldn't see each other for a while. Perhaps by the time he returned, he would have a better handle on his feelings.

* * * * *

He was awakened with a jolt, by a blood-curdling scream. For a moment he thought he might have dreamed it, but then he heard a commotion in the corridor outside. Throwing on a dressing gown, he put his head around his bedroom door, then emerged properly into a throng of guests, who were milling about, asking each other what was wrong and finding themselves none the wiser. All that mattered to Ray was that Bodie wasn't among them. He pushed past Messrs Hollingsworth and Gifford, who were looking particularly gormless wearing nightcaps and confused expressions, and headed for Bodie's room. He stopped, however, when he heard his employer's voice.

'There now, ladies and gentlemen, do not panic!' Bodie, coming from the western end of the corridor with a lantern in his hand, spoke in a tone of command that Ray could imagine being used to great effect on the battlefield. He raised his voice only enough to be heard over the cacophony of chatter, but he had such an air of authority about him that the party fell silent immediately. All eyes were on him. He was dressed, but it seemed as if he had done so in haste. He appeared to be, and sounded, perfectly composed, but Ray saw a haunted look behind the smooth lines of his face. _Something_ had happened, at any rate.

'There is no reason to worry. One of the servants had a nightmare, that is all. Return to your beds. Ladies, please, you will catch cold, even on a summer's night. Return to your beds, now.'

He shepherded them all back into their rooms. Ray retreated behind his own door, but he kept it open a crack, and peeked through to see where Bodie went. If he went back to his own room, Ray would be satisfied. But he didn't. As soon as the corridor was empty, he went towards Ray's door.

'Ray?' he whispered.

Ray opened the door. Bodie nodded to him, pressed a finger to his lips, and beckoned. Ray followed him without question. He realised after a minute that they were heading for the library. Bodie threw open the door and ushered Ray inside. When Ray took in the sight before him, he gasped.

Richard Mason was reclining on a chaise-lounge in front of the fire. His shirt was open, revealing a thin chest that heaved, and an ugly, gaping wound in his left shoulder. There was blood everywhere.

'Mr Mason! Are you all right, sir?' Ray had asked the stupid question before he could stop himself.

'Do not speak to him,' Bodie snapped. 'Richard. I shall leave you in the care of Mr Doyle here. Do not speak to him. Say not a word, or you will answer to me.'

Mason nodded; Bodie nodded back at him, then turned to Ray.

'Tend him. There is water and some rags beside him, there. Stem the flow of blood. I'm going for the doctor; I shall return within the hour.'

That hour was a long one. Ray sat with Mason, and as per Bodie's instructions, neither of them said a word. Ray kept the wound clean, but he feared that the man was losing too much blood. He wondered what on earth had happened, but he didn't dare to ask. It seemed to mean a lot to Bodie that the purpose of Mason's visit was kept secret. Ray knew he'd just have to trust him. Despite the warm night, he found himself periodically shivering as he waited in the dim light with the wounded man. He had never been superstitious, but it seemed as if an oppressive evil loomed over Bramblewood Hall that night. He was relieved when Bodie returned with the doctor.

'Bodie …' Mason whispered, reaching out to his friend. Bodie came and clasped his arm.

'Don't try and talk, Richard. I told you, didn't I? I told you to wait till morning! You didn't listen to me!'

'Who or what has done this?' the doctor demanded, but at a warning look from Bodie, he fell silent, and began to clean Mason's wound with alcohol.

'She just came at me,' Mason wheezed, gazing pleadingly into Bodie's face. 'She seemed so quiet at first …'

'Ssh. Don't worry. You're safe now. I shall return shortly.'

Bodie took Ray's arm and shepherded him out of the room.

'Thank you,' he said. 'All is in hand now. You may return to your bed. Get some sleep -- you have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.'

'But …' Ray began. He was starting to feel angry now, at being so summarily and patronisingly dismissed, without a hint of an explanation. The anger must have shown in his eyes, because Bodie's expression changed from firm command to soft and placating. His grip on Ray's arm became comforting.

'Ray,' he said gently. 'I know this seems strange to you. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but it's as I said before. It's between Mason and I.'

'It's that Waters woman, isn't it?' Ray snapped, wrenching his arm free. 'You're covering up for her again! Is Mason mixed up in this?'

'All is mixed up together, Ray -- such an intricate web that even I can't keep track of it anymore. Someday I hope I shall be able to tell you about it, but for now you must trust me; neither you nor anyone else is in danger.'

'Not in danger? What about Mason?'

'Mason was foolish,' Bodie answered. 'You are not, I trust, despite this insatiable curiosity of yours.'

'It's not just for me, you know,' Ray told him, with a cool, prickly intensity of which he was quite proud, considering how churned up he was inside. 'This situation, whatever it is, is hurting you. Frightening you. I can see it! I do not wish to see my friend in such a state. I want to help, and you won't let me. If it were my problem I would confide in you, but you shut yourself away and insist on fighting it alone. If I am angry it is for both our sakes.'

He turned and stalked away. Bodie didn't try and stop him. Hastening back to his room, Ray knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep, knew he shouldn't have left Bodie on a bad note when he wouldn't see him again for at least another week; knew he couldn't do anything about whatever strange situation Bodie had got himself into, that as a paid subordinate it was neither his business nor his duty; knew that the deadly sin of pride was ruling him, and that was why he didn't turn around and make peace. But Mr William Bodie -- for all that he was handsome, amusing, charmingly vulnerable at times, and a kindly soul in his way -- was, when all was said and done, a thoroughly maddening man.

And Ray, to his consternation, adored him no less for it.


	14. Chapter 14

The journey to the Phillips' house was long, and the roads bad. Ray sat and gritted his teeth, certain his spine was being jolted out of alignment, and it was all the worse for the tension in his frame. He was worrying, worrying … not about Bodie or anything at Bramblewood, but about going back into the house to which he'd sworn he'd never return, the house from which he'd been rejected, the house in which he'd been fed and clothed physically but his soul left naked and suffering. There was no fear, but hate, and resentment, the memory of being held in contempt. Fred Phillips would be there, and because his mother was dying, Ray would have to be civil to him, out of Christian charity. For the first time in years, Ray was conscious of his broken cheekbone. He ran the fingers of his left hand lightly along the bump, and remembered, again for the first time in years, how much it had hurt.

He stopped in at Pinegrove for afternoon tea, and was given a hearty welcome by everyone who remembered him: most people, since he'd only been gone a year. A couple of the teachers were new, replacing Mr James, who had finally retired, and Mr Davies, who, sadly, had died. One of the new teachers was strangely hostile to Ray, and Mr Hicks, the arithmetic master, whispered that he was Mr Preston's cousin.

'Don't worry though, Doyle,' he said. 'You got his kinsman transported; he resents you for it. It's a fair excuse. Everyone else applauds what you and your friend -- Richards, was it? -- did. Especially those who were there in the old days, before the reforms.'

'Your reassurance is unnecessary,' said Ray, 'but I thank you for it all the same.'

* * * * *

'Ray! You're all grown up, and so handsome!'

Ray grinned, and allowed himself to be kissed, and his hands clasped, by a much older and more matronly Gertie. Other than that, she hadn't changed.

 _It was so strange to be back,_ he wrote to Bodie, because in spite of their row he was determined to keep his promise, and he was glad to have someone to whom he could pour out his feelings and impressions, even if Bodie might no longer want to know about them. _I was greeted by the maid who'd nursed me as a child, the only person in the house who had ever been kind to me. My cousin Mrs Renwick, whom I remembered as a preening, simpering little girl, is now a mature young woman, and seems to have found felicity in marriage. (Before you say it, her daughter is called Margaret, and she is not adopted.) Her husband is a charming gentleman and I would have thought her quite unworthy of him. But perhaps, had we not this history, I would not have thought so. She has been quite civil to me. My younger cousin Cecelia, as yet unmarried, is as hostile as ever towards me. I care not._

 _My cousin Frederick, it transpires, has recently died. According to Mrs Renwick, he speculated, and the venture failed. He killed himself rather than face debtors' prison or exile. It was his death that brought on his mother's stroke. He always was a coward. I know one should never speak ill of the dead, but I cannot make myself think well of him. I feel nothing at the news of his death except relief that I do not have to spend time in his company. With thoughts like that, I believe what they said of me in this house: that I have a wicked heart. Would you believe me, Bodie, when I tell you that I care not? I have said that twice in this letter and I swear that in both cases it is the truth. If one is already damned, it is foolish, is it not, to waste one's life sorrowing over it?_

 _It was late evening when I arrived, and I was given a good supper, but I was not allowed to see Mrs Phillips until the morning. Of that I was both glad and not glad, because I did not relish the prospect of seeing her, but I knew I would have to sooner or later, and it is better to get unpleasant things over and done with. I slept little, and then only out of sheer exhaustion. You have made many long journeys, I know, but I have travelled only seldom, and I do not enjoy it. I would much rather make a home where I wish, and be settled. I have found the closest thing to home that I have ever known at Bramblewood, but I know that it is a transitory one. One day I shall know permanence, and be glad of it. I wish the same for you, my friend._

 _I woke that morning, and breakfasted, but I was nervous enough that I could not eat much. Mrs Renwick and Gertie brought me to my aunt's room. She was much changed. I had not seen her in nearly fifteen years, but she looked twenty-five years older. The stroke had left one side of her face totally immobile. I admit I felt a perverse kind of satisfaction at that, because of what her son did to my face. Are you shocked? I imagine you are not; you know me too well for that._

 _Mrs Phillips squinted at me, and frowned with her good side, and murmured: 'Who are you? You are like Raymond Doyle.'_

 _'I am Raymond Doyle,' I replied. 'Mrs Renwick wrote to tell me you were ill, and that you were asking for me. So I am come.'_

 _'You are much changed,' said she. 'I am getting on for thirty,' I replied. 'I am dying,' she said then, 'otherwise I should not have wished to lay eyes on you again.' I felt all the old feelings bubbling up inside me, the hate and resentment and regret. We never quite leave our childhoods behind, do we? I wish that I could. ~~Perhaps now I can~~ \-- ignore that; I am getting ahead of myself._

 _I cannot remember the conversation word for word after that, but I shall tell you the essentials. First she asked if we were alone. I told her truthfully that we were. Then she told me that she had done me wrong twice in my life. Once was when she disobeyed the wish of her husband that I should be brought up as her own. That was neither here nor there; I had never resented the fact that she sent me away from a place I hated and at which I was unwelcome, and she, clearly, could not make herself regret it. Her other confession surprised me utterly. She struggled over whether to tell me, but her better self must have won out in the end. She asked me to fetch a letter from her dressing-case and read it aloud._

 _The letter was to Mrs Phillips, from a Mr Edmund Doyle, dated thirteen years ago. It asked for the address of his nephew, Raymond Doyle. His nephew! I was not aware that I had any living relations. But it seems that my father had an elder brother, who has been in India for many years. He built up a great deal of wealth as a plantation owner. After his wife and two daughters died of cholera, he wished to adopt me, his only living relative, as his heir. He offered to adopt me during his life and to bequeath to me his fortune after his death. But Mrs Phillips, out of spite, wrote to him and told him I had died during the typhus epidemic at Pinegrove. She told me to write to my uncle and rectify her mistake. I said that I would do so._

 _You should have seen her face, Bodie. There was such hate there. She blamed me for her actions. She said I was born to be her torment; those words I do remember, and I doubt I shall ever forget them. She said that the way I turned on her before she sent me away had haunted her for years, and she was now haunted by a sin that, but for me, she would never have been tempted to commit. I did not imagine that the wrath of a thirteen year old boy (which, as I believe I have told you, was completely justified), would have affected her so. I told her I was but a child, and it was all in the past and forgotten, and she should not make herself uneasy over it. But still she babbled over how the interview had tortured her._

 _I told her: 'Love me or hate me as you wish, Mrs Phillips. You have my free and full forgiveness. Ask now for God's and be at peace.' I believe they were the last words she heard. Her distress turned to an attack, and she died shortly afterwards._

 _Three days have passed, and I am still trying to imagine what my life might have been. I would have left Pinegrove at fifteen, travelled to India. Perhaps I would have died on the voyage; many do, I hear. But perhaps I would have gone to my uncle and grown up rich and idle. I do not believe it would have suited me. You will think I am mad, perhaps, but I cannot regret what has occurred. It is said that everything happens for a reason, and my life has not been so very bad. ~~For one thing~~ You told me, the day before I left, that I should never envy rich men. I do not, therefore, mourn the loss of a life I might have had. I have written, now, to my uncle Edmund, and it is possible that I may be a rich man, one day. But I shall not go to him in India, even if he should ask me. I might have gone happily at fifteen, but I have lived too long in England now, and I could not bear to travel so far away._

 _My aunt's funeral is tomorrow, and Mrs Renwick has asked that I might remain for some days, and assist her with the arrangements for the disposal of her mother's estate. Her husband is not a clever man and he has no head for figures. He cheerfully acknowledges a need for help, and I think that I shall give it. I should be glad to be of use to them, despite what has occurred between us in the past._

 _Assuring you that I shall be back ~~with you~~ soon, I have the honour to be, my dear sir,  
Your obedient and humble servant, and your sincere and ~~affec~~ faithful friend,_

 _(Signed) R. Doyle._

* * * * *

It was a foggy afternoon in September when Ray, pleased to have the chance to walk the Bramblewood estate once more, left the coach in the nearby village, his luggage at the inn to be brought up later, and set off for the hall on foot. He could hardly wait to see Bodie, even though he was probably engaged by now. Ray often dreamed about him, but not in a lustful, or even romantic way. He kept dreaming of Bodie's words to him, the day they'd first spoken about Miss Holly. Something in them didn't seem to make sense, and Ray could never catch hold of what. The dreams troubled him, but he didn't mind, since they were his only way of seeing his friend while he was away. In his pocket was the one letter he had received from Bodie, so often read that he knew it by heart. He went over its words in his head as he walked:

 _Dear Ray,_

 _I received your letter last night. Trust you to be soft and let them walk all over you. But what must be must be. We can only hope that Arthur's brain does not shed all its knowledge in your absence. I suppose that at school he will become the equal of his peers, thanks to you. I can give none of his governesses the credit. I am suffering without the boon of your good sense, not to mention the entertainment you provide when good sense departs you altogether. Do you show such different sides of your character to all your employers, I wonder? Or is that my friend who graces me with such moods? _

_I'm teazing you, of course. I am man enough to admit that I miss your company and that the entertainment of my guests seems quite tedious now that you are gone. Our mutual friend Miss Holly is as charming as ever, though, for which I must be grateful. One of you at least shall always be a part of my life, and I am sure I deserve no such favour._

 _As for your aunt, I hope you don't mind me saying that her conduct towards you was insufferable. You did not mind speaking ill of your dead cousin, so perhaps you will excuse my being frank, though my connexion with the matter is no more than that of a confidante. I hope that your uncle is wealthy beyond the wildest dreams of the Phillips family and that you will get it all one day. But I am very glad that you are not going to India. I would expect you to keep in touch, and the cost of postage is exorbitant. I would wish that on neither of us, and I would certainly not wish the heat and hardship of India on you._

 _Do not speak to me of wickedness. You are the best man I know. Return to ~~me~~ Bramblewood soon._

 _Yours affectionately,  
Bodie._

Ray was delighted to find Bodie sitting on his own within sight of the house. He seemed to be sketching, though what he could find to draw in the fog was quite beyond Ray. Bodie looked up when he saw Ray approaching, and gave him a happy smile that for a brief moment seemed like the sun coming out, until it was tempered by Bodie's usual wry humour.

'So you have returned at last. Why, you stayed above a month!'

'There was business to attend to, sir,' said Ray.

'And trust you to try and fool me by sneaking up here on foot. I said you were an elf.'

'Bodie,' Ray rejoined, in a tone of exaggerated patience, 'if you call me an elf again I shall conveniently forget you pay my wages and demand the satisfaction due from one gentleman to another!'

'Yes, I suppose you may be considered a gentleman now,' Bodie said drily. 'Though a very unfashionable one; duelling is not the thing any more, you know. We are supposed to be upstanding moral characters, give generously to charitable causes, and weep if we see a dead dog in the street.'

'I should be fighting tears at such a sight no matter what my financial situation; I like dogs.'

'Good God, do you? I can't abide 'em. Anyway, just _how much_ of a gentleman you turn out to be, we shall have to wait and find out. I assume you will continue to work as a tutor until your affairs are settled?'

'Why, certainly,' said Ray. 'And I hope you have not forgotten your promise to look for another post for me.'

'Do you still wish to leave?'

Ray was annoyed at that. 'You are to be married, are you not?'

'Yes, yes,' Bodie snapped back, waving his hand impatiently. 'But why must it all be so sudden?'

'Most brides who are of age would not wish for a long engagement,' replied Ray.

'Yes, my bride,' said Bodie, sounding inexplicably sulky. 'All right, yes, I have found you another situation, but must we discuss it now? Come into the house, Raymond. Stay your weary little wandering feet.'

'Little feet, indeed!' Ray retorted. He held out one of the appendages in question. 'Larger than yours, I shouldn't wonder.'

'I admit it. And very fetchingly clad, if I may say so.' Bodie gestured to the brown leather boots that enclosed Ray's lower legs.

'They are practical for country walks,' said Ray. 'They are not designed to be fetching.'

'Are they not?' Bodie asked, with pretend surprise. 'Well, perhaps we must wholly credit Almighty God, for _his_ design of your legs.'

'Bodie!' Ray scolded him laughingly. 'You may have had foolish designs towards our own sex in your youth, but you should not say such things when you are so soon to be a bridegroom.' He was proud of himself for being able to make so light of what was very clearly flirtation on his employer's part. The mutual hint they'd given each other a month ago should not have made Bodie think he had the right to be so free with his words, or his eyes. Surely he wasn't blind to the depth of Ray's feelings -- he had to know how hurtful such a remark could be. It was with some satisfaction, therefore, that he noted Bodie's eyes darkening with anger at his humorous rejoinder.

'My foolish designs, as you call them, have nothing whatever to do with my marital state, whatever it is now or may be in the future,' he snapped. 'Now, I at least am growing cold, and I am going inside. You may follow me if it pleases you; clearly nothing I say will induce you to do one thing or another.'

'Oh, don't be such a …' Ray began, but wisely bit his tongue. Bodie whirled around and glared at him. He looked almost frightening: a dark, Byronic figure.

'Such a _what,_ pray?'

'Nothing,' Ray muttered, and stalked ahead of Bodie towards the house, pulling his cloak close around him to hide the effect that an angry, scowling Bodie had had upon his loins. Predictably, the Bodie who caught up with him a few minutes later looked quite amiable -- even contrite.

'Do we always have to quarrel these days?' he asked.

'I do not mean to be quarrelsome,' said Ray. That was as close as he was willing to get to an apology just then.

'Well, neither do I, but you can be quite maddening at times.'

'As can you.'

'There, we have something in common.'

They exchanged a smile, and walked the rest of the way to the hall in a companionable silence.

'Shall I ring for some tea?' Bodie asked. 'Best to discuss business on a full stomach, I always say.'

Ray acquiesced, and they took tea in the library together. Mrs Harrison brought it in, and expressed her happiness at seeing Ray back again. He returned the compliment politely, but in truth he wished her out of the room; he wanted to be alone with Bodie. After all, there would be very few chances left. As it was, they were not making the best of it. Bodie was nervous for some reason, and he small-talked abominably as they ate and drank; Ray gave one and two-word answers, and he could tell that they were both annoyed, and more, not less relaxed, by the time they came to discuss more serious matters.

'Ray, you asked me to find you a situation. I have found you one, should you choose to accept it. Two boys, one twelve and one ten. Respectable family from the north of Ireland.'

'Ireland?' Ray repeated in horror. All at once he realised he was on his feet. He reddened, and was about to sit down again, when Bodie stood to face him.

'What is wrong with Ireland?' he asked mildly. 'They are a Protestant family, if that's what you're worried about.'

'It's not that, it's --' Ray was about to make some excuse, try and smooth things over, but he was tired of pretending.

'It's so far away!'

'From what?' Bodie looked eager as he asked the question, and Ray felt like hitting him. He was being mocked; he was sure of it. Well, he'd give the bastard the satisfaction, let him have his little joke and be done. He couldn't toy with Ray's feelings once everything was out in the open. Ray could speak his mind and make a clean break.

'What do you _think?_ ' he shouted, finally losing his temper. To his shame, tears sprang to his eyes. 'You want to hear it, don't you? It's far away from _you._ You know it! You know how I feel about you and you delight in taunting me! Well have your laugh, Mr Bodie, for I cease to care. I shall leave you as you no doubt wish me to, and one day, believe me, I shall be glad of it.'

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. The house suddenly seemed stifling. He strode to the side door and out into the garden, heading for the circle of stone seats where he'd spent so many pleasurable, peaceful hours during his free time at Bramblewood. He would sit there one more time, let the ground soak up his tears, and then pack his belongings, and leave Bramblewood, Bodie, and the agony of love, once and for all.


	15. Chapter 15

The fog of the afternoon cleared into a crisp, cool night while Ray sat outside in the garden. If circumstances had been different, Ray would have revelled in the beauty of his surroundings, perhaps laid down on the grass and looked up at the moon and stars. But he stared at the ground, his eyes blurred with tears, and didn't even look up when Bodie sat down beside him. He was too close, but that couldn't be helped. He wasn't going to tell him to move; that would satisfy him further. But if he tried to touch him, Ray swore to himself that he'd strike out, and damn the consequences.

'You dare to follow me out here?' he muttered.

'It's my garden; I shall do as I please in it.'

'You have certainly done as you pleased with me,' Ray told him bitterly. 'Clearly it is not enough. You want to hurt me more. What more have you to say to me? Do you wish to tell me your plans for your wedding night, perhaps? Invite me to listen at the keyhole?'

'Ray.'

Bodie's voice was soft, pleading, and although Ray didn't trust him an inch, he looked up. He saw something he hadn't expected to see: an ashen face, seemingly even paler in the moonlight, and an expression that the greatest actor in the world couldn't have faked. His cheeks were hollow, his face all light and shadow and thinner than it usually appeared; his eyes were wide and staring, and wore a haunted look that took away from their natural beauty, yet added something else -- a depth Ray had only seen when he laughed, or showed himself miserable or afraid, or in that moment earlier in the day, when Ray had come upon him unexpectedly, and he'd smiled with delight at their reunion.

'I've gone too far,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

'You made me speak my mind,' Ray answered, through teeth gritted against the threat of weeping. The apology had made his anger melt away, and now he could say what he needed, if only he could keep his voice steady. 'You were cruel, the way you chose to do it. The rest, you could hardly help. It's all just …' he paused, and placed a clenched fist against his heart '… this.'

'Jesus,' whispered Bodie. Ray saw that he had clenched his own fists. He watched Bodie visibly make himself relax, flattening his palms onto his knees.

'I'll be gone in the morning, Bodie,' he said. 'You need trouble yourself no further about me. I have friends with whom I can shelter until my affairs are settled.'

'If that must be, it must be,' Bodie answered, nodding. 'But I hope that you'll forgive me in time. We have been good friends, Ray. When friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the little time that remains to them close to each other. I should like to spend that time with you now, if you can stand to sit beside me.'

'Perhaps if you were not so close.'

'Of course.' Bodie shifted further away, so they were sitting at opposite ends of the bench. After a long pause, he asked: 'Shall you accept the post in Ireland?'

'I believe I must.'

'It is a long way, as you said. I'm sorry to send my friend on such weary travels, but if I can't do better, how is it to be helped?'

Ray didn't trust himself to speak, so he remained silent, lips firmly sealed, hands twisted together on his knees.

'I feel a connection with you, you know,' said Bodie, still in that soft, regretful voice. 'It's a queer feeling. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame. Yet if you were to leave, if so much space were to come between us, I am afraid that cord would be snapped, and I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.'

Ray took a long, shaky breath. He neither understood, nor really cared what Bodie was saying any longer. He just wanted him to finish speaking, to release him to his packing, to let him go. Slowly, he brought his arms around himself, closing himself off from the man beside him.

'You think now that you love me,' said Bodie. 'But you said it yourself tonight. You'd forget me in time.'

Ray's head snapped up indignantly.

'That I _never_ should! How can you …'

His eyes filled, and spilled over, and anger as well as misery took him over. 'God damn you, Bodie! You think to convince yourself of that just to ease your own guilt! Oh, Christ, I wish I'd never been born. I wish I'd never come to Bramblewood.'

'Because you're sorry to leave it?'

'No, damn you! Why do you persist in your denial of my feelings? This house has no attachment for me except in what I have found within its walls. I have loved before, Bodie, no matter what you might have supposed. But I had never known society such as yours. I delighted in your friendship. I could have carried on happily as your friend and tutor for your ward, but I will not remain here to see you married. I will not stay here and become nothing to you but a servant. Do you think that I am an automaton, that I have no feelings? Do you think that because I am poor and obscure, I am soulless and heartless as well? I have as much soul and heart as you; what's more _I_ ' -- he poked himself twice in the chest for emphasis -- 'am a better man, because I have never made playthings out of human beings the way you have with me. Though perhaps I might have been tempted, if God had gifted me with a woman's body and the wealth of kings. Indeed, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me now as it is for me to leave you!'

'You are right in one thing, at any rate,' Bodie replied, his eyes downcast and his voice no more than a sullen muttering. 'I do delight in a woman's beauty. So do you, I believe. If you think that means I am blind to male beauty then you think wrong. If you think I cannot love a man' -- he paused, and his eyes lifted to meet Ray's -- 'if you _persist_ in thinking so, after all the times I've tried to tell you …'

'What are you talking about?'

'This -- this so-called marriage of mine! It is an invention, Ray! And not, whatever you might have convinced yourself, of _my_ devising. Maybe it was pride that made me keep up the charade. But it was a pride that had been hurt by you. Recall that night when we sat together in the library, when I told you of my desire to promise my soul to another.'

'Yes, to Miss Holly!' Ray almost shouted. He jumped to his feet, ready to walk away, but Bodie stood with him and caught him by the shoulders.

'No, _not_ ' -- he shook him hard -- 'to Miss Holly! It was _you_ who mentioned her. Good God, Ray, I still don't believe it -- that you thought I could have been talking of _her._ God, you hurt me. If I exacted a little revenge for that, wished you to feel a little jealousy, I don't see how you can blame me. But that's all in the past now. I don't know how we'll manage it; we certainly cannot marry, or even acknowledge our attachment publicly, but … damn it, I don't care. I offer you my heart -- my hand -- a share in all my possessions. I offer you an oath, maybe not in church, but still before God.'

Ray punched Bodie full in the mouth. Bodie staggered back, sitting down heavily on the bench, and put a hand gingerly to the cut Ray had made in his lip.

'Does that make you feel better?' he asked mildly.

'You bastard,' Ray sneered. 'You play a farce with me. I thought you were contrite.'

'I'm asking you to pass through life at my side. To be my second self.' Bodie was going on as if nothing had happened.

'For that fate you have already made your choice, and it is a proper choice indeed.'

'Ray, for God's sake -- come back, let us explain and understand one another.'

'I will never again come when you call. You are my master no longer.'

'Indeed I am not; I wish to be your husband, in all but name.'

'Your bride and Christendom stand between us.'

Bodie rose again, and reached Ray in one stride, standing close.

'I can have no bride, Ray. How can I ever marry a woman, when my true love, my equal, is here? And hang Christendom! There is no God in church. What is a mere earthly institution, propping up a narrow, shallow society, next to what we feel for each other? I asked you before and you did not give me a real answer. How can something this strong and pure be wrong, Ray?'

He had Ray by the shoulders again. Ray stood absolutely still. He had lost the will to fight. He stared stubbornly at the ground.

'You still doubt me?' Bodie asked softly.

'Entirely!' Ray looked him full in the face as he said it.

'You have no faith in me?'

'Not a whit!'

'Am I a liar in your eyes?' Bodie asked passionately. His voice shook as it rose. 'You stupid little sod! What love have I for Miss Holly? What love has she for me? She was using _you_ to make me jealous, to make me see she was highly desired, so I would propose to her quickly. Little did she know of _whom_ I was jealous! She's no more than a mercenary, Ray, out to secure a rich husband to please her parents and to secure her own life of luxury. But I -- I have not that love for wealth that could induce me to marry her. You, I love as my own flesh. I was wrong to make you believe otherwise, or rather to confirm a belief you had conjured for yourself. I should have put you right immediately; I see that now. But I had to be sure you were as madly in love with me as I was with you.'

'You said you knew,' Ray said dully. The substance of their conversation of weeks ago was starting to return to him. He was beginning to realise that with Miss Holly in the equation, little of Bodie's speech to him had made sense. It had been plain enough that she was all but indifferent to Bodie, yet he had said how certain he was of her regard for him. Except that he had not meant her. Ray saw that now.

'I thought I did know, until you mentioned Miss Holly,' said Bodie. 'I thought at first that I'd been mistaken, that you were trying to put me off. When I realised you weren't, I was so angry that I wanted revenge, and I took it. Tonight, I realised I'd gone too far. When I came out here and saw your face it damn near broke my heart. Now I am as certain of your love as I ever was, and I think I am convincing you of mine -- but I am by no means confident that you will not turn and walk out of here in spite of it. I have your heart, Ray, but without trust you will soon snatch it back again. Am I right?'

Ray, miserably, nodded.

'How can I make you trust me?' Bodie asked, with the pleading note back in his voice. 'Ray, please. Look at me. Know that I'm in earnest.'

He took Ray's hand and tugged him gently back to the bench. Ray complied, not daring to look at Bodie, lest he find himself mistaken in what he was starting to believe. He wanted so much to think the words he was hearing were true, and the tone of Bodie's voice made him begin to credit his sincerity. Needing it to be over one way or another, he looked directly into Bodie's eyes, feeling perched on their thickly-lashed edges, willing himself not to drown.

'Do you really mean it?'

'Ray, I must have you for my own -- entirely my own. I am already yours, no matter what your answer. Say you'll be mine. Please, love, forget your pride, as I have already forgotten mine. Only stubbornness stands between us now.'

'Bodie …'

Ray had raised his hand involuntarily, half-reaching out towards Bodie. Now, fully aware, and hovering on the edge of a joy he still didn't quite trust enough to feel, he let the tips of his fingers brush the beloved face. At his touch, Bodie whimpered, and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again they were over-bright. He cupped Ray's face in both his hands.

'Ray,' he whispered. 'Let me hear the words from your lips. If you never speak them again after tonight, please …'

Ray grew bolder; he stroked Bodie's cheek with his right thumb, and ran his other hand through the dark waves of Bodie's hair. His mouth had been dry, his throat constricted with emotion, but Bodie's words made him long to speak.

'You're everything to me,' he replied fiercely. 'Do you hear me? I am as much yours as you are mine, Bodie. I love you more than my own life.'

He leaned forward and kissed Bodie's mouth, kissing him like he'd never kissed anyone before in his life, knowing that Bodie's level of experience far eclipsed his, but knowing at the same time that he'd never been kissed quite like this, never with such feeling. Bodie uttered a strange, vulnerable sound and wrapped his arms around Ray, pulling him as close as he could without ending the kiss, finally breaking off to bury his face in Ray's throat, and Ray felt Bodie's tears of relief against his skin as he returned the embrace.

'We are not in sight of the house,' he said after a moment, raising his head to gaze into Ray's face. 'But there is somewhere yet more secluded, if you would accompany me there.'

Ray's stomach twisted. He knew what Bodie meant, and the thought of it aroused him, but it also made him nervous, terrified that his impotence might reassert itself, and painfully conscious of his own inexperience.

'Bodie,' he answered. 'I want you so very much. But I've never … with a man ... I haven't … have you?'

'I have, many years ago. It's wonderful, Ray. Will you let me show you?'

Somehow, the look on Bodie's face made everything seem all right.

'With all my heart, yes,' Ray said.

'Ah, Ray.' Passionately, Bodie kissed his neck, and hugged him once more. Then he stood up, pulling Ray with him, and strode off toward the woods without another word.


	16. Chapter 16

Bodie led Ray to a little hollow in the woods, a glade carpeted in autumn leaves, and bathed in the silvery light that shone through the canopy.

'Here,' he murmured. 'It shall be here.'

Bodie proceeded to kiss Ray so thoroughly that his knees wobbled, and he sat down, pulling his lover with him. He took the initiative that time, kissing Bodie with a growing urgency, leaning over him, then straddling him.

He pulled back, and whispered: 'Touch me.' He kissed Bodie again, briefly but hard. 'Love me. Let me' -- another kiss -- 'feel everything you can make me feel.' Another kiss, then a tight hug, and a series of kisses all over Bodie's jaw and throat. 'I'll drive you mad with desire, if only you'll teach me how.'

'I the schoolmaster, thou the pupil,' said Bodie, his voice pleasingly breathless. 'Trouble is, my dear Raymond, you already seem to know.'

He pressed his crotch up against Ray's, letting him feel his arousal. Ray, achingly hard, pushed back.

'Oh, Ray, you want me,' Bodie gasped.

'Of course I want you, what do you think this is?'

'Nothing like the evidence of a hard cock to make it seem real.'

'Dotard.'

They both laughed, and kissed again, pulling away to smile at each other.

'Will you marry me, Ray?' Bodie asked, caressing his face.

'If it were possible, I'd say yes in a heartbeat,' Ray answered. 'But you know it isn't.'

'I don't mean in an official sense,' said Bodie. 'Will you say the vows with me?'

Ray opened his mouth to argue that it was sacrilege, but all at once he realised that it was nothing of the kind. What else was a wedding but a declaration of love before God? Who'd decided there had to be churches and priests, lawyers, witnesses, relations, fancy clothes and celebrations?

'Let's say them now,' he replied.

'Not quite yet,' said Bodie. 'Let's say them in coitus, Ray … fuck me … marry me.'

'Bodie!' Ray couldn't help showing his shock that time.

'It's too beautiful to be wrong,' Bodie said earnestly, slipping his arms around Ray's waist and drawing him closer. 'If it truly is wicked, we are both doomed to hell anyway. I'd rather be in hell with you than heaven alone.'

'Me too,' Ray admitted. 'And we may get there sooner than you might think. You can be hanged for buggery. It's happening more all the time.'

'Will that stop you?' Bodie asked.

Ray hesitated for a brief moment, but then shook his head. Bodie smiled, and kissed him.

'Come on,' he said. 'I want you.'

'You can have me,' Ray told him. 'But when we say the vows, shouldn't we be doing something that brings equal pleasure to both of us? I imagine that penetrating a man would be as wonderful as you say it is, but …'

'What, you think it would bring no pleasure for me?' Bodie was laughing; Ray frowned at him. 'Ray, take off your clothes. I'll show you what it feels like. Don't worry,' he added, when Ray opened his mouth to argue, 'I won't fuck you straightaway. I can pleasure you with one finger. Then you can decide if you want more. But not before you fuck me -- I want you too much to wait.'

'Won't it hurt?' Ray asked.

For the first time, Bodie looked sheepish.

'When I followed you outside, it was with hope that we'd come to this point,' he admitted. 'I came prepared, in case my hopes were fulfilled.'

He reached into the pocket of his coat, and drew out a small glass bottle.

'It's oil,' he explained. 'It'll help … you know.'

Ray started laughing, without really knowing why. He just knew it felt good, even better when Bodie laughed with him, and it was such a relief to talk about acts he'd always thought of us unnatural, as if they were normal, run-of-the-mill things. Filled with sudden joy, Ray grabbed Bodie around the waist and wrestled him to the ground. They scuffled together in the leaves, a good-natured struggle turning soon to a contest of who could get whose clothes off first. Bodie was strong, but Ray was fast, and in the end Bodie was the first to be naked, but Ray surrendered willingly to him afterwards, lying on their two coats and his cloak, watching in breathless anticipation as Bodie pulled off his boots and breeches, exposing his hard cock to the night air. The chill could not wilt him, though: not with the heat of Bodie's eyes devouring him. Ray wondered if his years of impotence had happened to someone else -- he could almost have come from the effect of his lover watching him.

'You're worth hanging for,' Bodie said with a lascivious grin. Ray grinned back. Without taking his eyes off Bodie's, he spread his thighs. Bodie, nude and hard and gorgeous, god-like in the light of the moon, moaned at the sight of him, and lay down at his side, taking him in his arms. They kissed; their cocks clashed; both men groaned and drew back, the sensations too much. Bodie made Ray shift onto his side, and uncorked the bottle of oil. He poured some carefully into his left palm, then coated his right finger. He then moved that finger slowly down between Ray's buttocks, making him gasp and laugh nervously. Then the finger found its target, and began to caress, stroking gently around the outside. Ray closed his eyes.

'That's nice, Bodie,' he said. Bodie answered him with a kiss. Then, his voice gentle, he told Ray to relax. Ray obeyed, and Bodie's finger began to probe gently inside. Coated in oil, it didn't hurt, but he still tensed up.

'Relax,' Bodie whispered again. Ray took a deep breath, and relaxed. The finger slid into him. He moaned softly; it felt good, that finger stimulating the entrance to his body.

'Tell me when you feel something,' Bodie told him. 'I hope it's pleasure.'

The finger began to explore -- not an unpleasant feeling, and certainly not painful.

'God, it's like velvet,' Bodie whispered. 'It feels so good, touching you.'

'It feels good being touched,' Ray whispered back. 'It's strange, like -- ahh!'

His hand flew to his mouth, cutting off his cry at the jolt of -- something -- that had just shot through his body, when Bodie's finger rubbed against -- something -- inside him.

'Bodie,' he said in a small, strained voice. 'Whatever you did just then --'

'What,' Bodie asked, 'here?'

'Ah, Christ, yes!' That time Ray was certain it was good. When Bodie did it a third time he almost sobbed out loud.

'Bodie, if you do that again I'll come, I'm sure of it.'

Bodie's answering look was at once incredulous, delighted, loving. It would have taken Ray's breath away on its own, but as it was, Ray reached for him and kissed him with desperate need. He was teetering on the edge of climax when Bodie dipped his head down between Ray's legs.

'Then come somewhere soft and warm,' he said, 'and wet.'

'Oh' -- Ray moaned, as Bodie's mouth closed around the head of his cock -- 'oh God' -- Bodie was sucking him, his tongue probing everywhere Ray was most sensitive -- 'God … Bodie … don't stop' -- Bodie's finger began to press and rub and against the place inside him that brought him so much pleasure, and the heat rose in his loins, and Ray's voice rose in pitch, almost to a squeak -- 'oh Jesus!' -- and he was over the edge, and coming, and coming, bursts of exquisite release, and Bodie drank down every one as if it were the elixir of life.

When it was over, and he began to soften, Bodie released him, and removed his finger, and stretched upwards to bring himself face-to-face with Ray, drawing his still-shuddering body gently into an embrace. Ray clung gratefully to him. He was strung out, close to tears, relieved beyond words that he could function like any other red-blooded man, overwhelmed with how incredible it had felt, filled with a degree of love he wasn't sure if he could ever express to Bodie, yet his sated body was lulling him into relaxation. He could feel Bodie's cock, hard and urgent against his hip, and he wanted to reciprocate, and to feel once again that sensation he had felt when Bodie's finger was pressing into him. He shifted away from his lover without a word, locating the bottle of oil, then pouring some of the contents directly onto Bodie's cock.

'What are you doing?' Bodie asked in surprise.

'I want more,' Ray answered, taking his cock in both hands and spreading the oil evenly. Then he pushed Bodie onto his back and straddled him, pressing the slippery head up against his entrance.

'Oh, Ray, yes. Please, yes.'

Then Ray gasped and squeezed his eyes shut as he forced Bodie's cock to breach him. Despite the oil, it hurt. He'd never been stretched that widely. But he was determined to carry on.

'Is it painful?' Bodie asked anxiously, watching him. Ray opened his eyes and nodded.

'But I don't want to stop.'

'Would it be easier if I …'

'I don't know.'

'Here.'

Bodie grasped Ray's hips and began to push upwards with his own, as Ray slowly moved down. His mouth was open in a silent cry. He could see the worry on Bodie's face and he wished he could hide the pain, but he'd long ago given up hope of hiding anything from the man he loved.

'I love you,' Bodie said, lifting one hand to touch Ray's face, lightly caressing the broken cheekbone. 'Do you hear me?'

Ray moaned, and lowered himself the rest of the way down, not caring that a tear was simultaneously making its way down his left cheek: a tear of pain, not emotion.

'I love you too,' he managed to reply. 'Jesus, Bodie, did it hurt you this much the first time?'

'Yes,' Bodie answered. 'But it's all right once you get moving.'

Ray nodded, managing a weak smile. He started to move up and down a little, and rotate his hips, trying to stimulate that magical place inside him. It seemed like hours, but the pain finally began to ease, and be replaced by pleasure. He only occasionally felt the explosive sensations Bodie had caused, but he liked having Bodie's cock inside him: a solid, comforting presence. And as his awareness increased, he began to realise what it meant. He and Bodie were one. He looked down into his lover's face, saw the pleasure there, the adoration, the agony of waiting. He was holding off until Ray got comfortable. But Ray was getting more than comfortable. He was getting better at directing his thrusts, and to his pleasant surprise, he was starting to become aroused again. Bodie saw it too, and stroked him to full erection, moaning and whimpering as he started allowing himself to experience his own pleasure, too.

'Bodie, sit up,' Ray said, after a few minutes of this. 'Let me hold you.'

Bodie didn't hesitate; using Ray's hips as leverage he pulled himself up, leaning forward while Ray leaned slightly backwards, and let Ray envelop him in his arms. Ray held him close for a long moment, then pulled back so they could look into each other's eyes. Bodie was thrusting up and into him, daring to go harder, and Ray was grinding down, all pain forgotten, his pleasure building with every stroke. But he hadn't forgotten what he wanted to say.

'Dearly beloved,' he whispered, 'we are gathered here tonight, in the sight of the moon and the stars and …'

He stopped, fighting a rush of emotion as Bodie moaned his name.

'… to join ourselves, man to man, in matrimony. I won't bother with the rest of the preamble, I only remember the bit about the procreation of children, and I don't think we'll manage that.'

Bodie barked a laugh. 'Just do the vows, then.'

'Do you -- what's your first name, again?'

'William -- Andrew -- Phillip -- Bodie.'

'Oh, you poor thing. William Andrew Phillip Bodie, will you take me, Raymond Doyle, to be your wedded husband, to love and to comfort from this day forward, to have and to hold, for richer and for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, till death us do part?'

'I will. Ray, keep _still!'_

Bodie impaled Ray completely with a deep, hard thrust, and gripped his waist to try and stop him moving.

'Oh, yes!' Ray cried out. Stubbornly, he kept up tiny movements of his hips -- with Bodie's cock at its current angle, every little thrust forward sent shockwaves of pleasure through him.

'Raymond Doyle,' Bodie gasped, 'will you take me, Will -- me, _Bodie,_ to be _your_ wedded husband, to … to … God, sorry, I'm losing my mind, it's too good, Ray …'

'To love and to …'

'Yes, yes. To love and to comfort from this day forward, to have and to hold, for better and for worse, in sickness and health, for richer and poorer, till death us do part?'

'I will, I will … I'm going to …'

'Then I pronounce us married. Let the groom kiss the groom.'

'And vice versa.'

'Yes.'

They shared a passionate kiss that for Ray, was both too long and not long enough. But there was nothing leisurely about what they were doing now. Suddenly, Bodie threw back his head and omitted something between a groan and a sigh, and his body went completely still. Ray, feeling him come in wet heat inside him, leaned back a little to give himself access to his own cock, and pumped it hard, as, in reaction to his lover, he started to climax for the second time.

'Bodie, my love …' he whispered, as he came.

* * * * *

 _Oh, God,_ Ray thought, as he woke. _It was a dream._

He was lying in bed, alone, but his first memory was of Bodie -- Bodie and him, together, in the woods. They'd quarrelled; Bodie had followed him, they'd confessed love, made vows, lain together. And yet here he was the next morning, as if it were any other, except that he had only just returned to Bramblewood. His luggage was in the corner of the room, where it had been brought up and left for him to unpack. His clothes from the day before were folded over a chair, his cloak and under-coat still a little damp from the ground, still with a leaf or two clinging to the thick wool …

Not a dream.

Ray's stomach gave a jolt. He sat up straight in bed, breathing hard. It was real. Of course they wouldn't have slept _together;_ that would have been reckless and stupid. They'd talked about it. They'd spent a long while lying naked in each other's arms, but they'd finally had to admit that they were cold, and that it would look odd to the servants if they stayed out any longer. They'd got dressed, slowly, taking the time to exchange smiles that were alternately knowing and shy. Then they'd walked back to the house, and they'd talked quite seriously about what they were going to do.

'We won't be able to continue here, of course,' Bodie had said. 'I was never all that attached to the place. We shan't be able to leave immediately, of course, but eventually I shall make arrangements to sell the estate. After that we can go anywhere we like. Perhaps even out of England. Thanks to Napoleon there are many countries whose laws look more favourably on our kind of men. Once you come into your fortune it will be simple enough. Two gentleman friends, one who has newly inherited, never taken the grand tour -- we take ours, and we just don't come back.'

'You do realise it could be years before I come into any real money,' Ray had argued.

'Then we wait years. I'm willing. We can still be together in that time.'

'But we cannot be free, Bodie.'

'It's all very well to dream, Ray, but we may never be free. You do realise that, don't you? In staying with me you would be paying a heavy price. And taking considerable risk.'

'No more than you.'

'True enough. Well,' Bodie had smiled, 'we are married now; what else can we do?'

'Don't remind me that we are married while we are in sight of the house,' Ray had replied, taking a teasing delight in the slight uneasiness that had crossed Bodie's face before he qualified his statement. 'Whenever I think of it I want to throw my arms around you.'

'Don't, you'll make me as bad! That reminds me, I suppose you know I shall be in agony tonight, for we cannot possibly risk sleeping in the same bed.'

'Especially since we wouldn't be doing much sleeping,' Ray had said with a grin.

'As much as I love the thought of screwing you rigid throughout the night, my mind was more romantically engaged.'

'Oh?' Ray had given him a sly, sideways smile, wanting very much, and not needing at all, for him to elaborate.

'Since I've known you I've hated to be separated from you,' Bodie had told him. 'But I've borne it along with the necessity for silence. Now we've broken that silence, it is harder than ever to leave you. Promise me you'll never sleep under a different roof from me again, at least.'

'I promise that I shall try my utmost always to be near you.'

'Hmph. I suppose that will have to do. And of course, I promise the same.'

They had been accosted by Mrs Harrison when they got in. She had scolded Bodie for keeping his friend outside talking until eleven o'clock at night, when he'd just returned from a long and tiring journey. She'd cajoled them into having a late supper, and finally left them alone at midnight. They had parted with a mutual tender smile, and Ray had lain awake for hours, almost overcome with the temptation to go down the corridor to Bodie's bedroom. He was sure it was only exhaustion that enabled him to sleep at all, for he had been so impatient for the morning to come. He recalled all this as he dressed hurriedly, catching sight of himself in the looking-glass and being astonished. A happy Ray Doyle looked quite a different man from the one who had looked out at him at the Phillips' house on the morning before. In fact, he could not recall seeing himself like that before. But then, he had never been so happy before.

Ray clattered downstairs, half-expecting to meet Mrs Harrison and be ushered into the big, friendly kitchen for breakfast, as he was most mornings whether he was hungry or not. But he met no one. He headed straight for the library. He'd decided to wait there until Bodie came down. He was a considerably later riser than Ray was. Ray was surprised, therefore, to see his lover's tousled dark head appear around the library door as he approached. It was all he could do not to break into a run. He entered the room when Bodie held the door open for him. It was dark, for the curtains had not yet been drawn back, but there was a lamp alight on one of the tables. He stood in the middle of the room and watched Bodie locking the door.

'I couldn't sleep,' he said. 'Could you?'

'Not for a long time,' Ray answered. A little shyly, he added: 'Missed you too much.'

'Oh Ray,' said Bodie. 'Come and bid me good morning.'

They both started forward at the same instant, and collided in a fierce hug. Pressed against the solid reality of Bodie, all hard muscle and soft flesh covered in silk and wool and lace, breathing in his scent and almost overcome by love, Ray felt his inner world right itself.

'So many times I almost went to you,' Bodie told him. 'I wanted you so much. Mostly just to hold you, like this -- I was too tired for much else. Yet I couldn't sleep.'

'Let's go somewhere quiet and private today,' said Ray, stroking his hair. 'You can sleep in my arms as long as you like then.'

'Coffee will fortify me,' Bodie argued, pulling away to look sternly at him. 'If you think I'm spending a minute of the day asleep when I could be spending it in your company -- after not seeing you in over a month! Come here, I'll show you just how fortified I am.'

He took Ray's mouth in a kiss that started the fire of arousal all over again. Ray found himself being pushed backwards across the room, towards Bodie's desk. Bodie made him lean against it, then quickly and efficiently stripped him from the waist. Ray shivered with anticipation, expecting to be turned around any moment, bent over the desk and fucked. Before he knew what was happening, Bodie had dropped to his knees and taken Ray's rapidly hardening cock into his mouth. Ray cried out, half in surprise and half in pleasure. Bodie released him, laughing, and shushed him.

'Well what do you expect?' Ray demanded in a harsh whisper. 'You can't just … _ohhh_ … and expect to … _ahhhhh._ '

After that, he was flying … until Bodie stopped, quite abruptly, and got to his feet.

'Don't stop now!' Ray moaned.

'It's time for me to get what I wanted last night, except events rather overtook us,' Bodie said. He took the bottle of oil from his pocket and handed it to Ray. Then he undid his breeches and pushed them down to his knees, not bothering to remove his boots. His shirt was long enough to keep him modest, but his cock was hard, and pressing up through the material. Bodie turned around, bracing himself against the desk. Ray could just see the curve of hard, pale buttocks where the shirt ended and nothing else began. The sight of him partially covered by clothes was equally, if not _more_ tantalising, than the sight of him naked that Ray had glimpsed last night.

'Do you still have your army uniform, Bodie?' he asked, running his hands lightly over the shapely orbs that had been presented to him. Bodie breathed harder at his touch.

'I have it somewhere, why?'

'I was just thinking how this scene would look if you were dressed in regimentals.'

'Have a penchant for soldiers, do you?' Bodie teased.

'I'd like to see you as a soldier,' Ray answered, murmuring the words almost absently as he slicked his cock with oil. 'I'd like to fuck you as one. With your sword at your belt, and everything.'

'I'll dress like that for you,' Bodie told him. 'I'll do anything for you -- provided you fuck me now.'

Ray shoved Bodie forward over the desk, and obliged him.


	17. Chapter 17

The six weeks that followed were the happiest Ray had ever spent in his life. To all outward appearances, nothing at Bramblewood Hall changed. Mr Bodie did not propose to Miss Holly as some had thought he would, but the lady did not feel it to be any great loss. The young schoolmaster did not go to a new post in Ireland, as it had been rumoured he might. He stayed on and taught Arthur Kellar. He would do so for another year, then Arthur would be sent away to school, and Mr Doyle, it was presumed, would go elsewhere.

Ray _would_ go elsewhere, and Bodie would go with him. They were both determined about that. They had talked further, and decided that when Ray's duty to Arthur was done, they would go to Europe. It was one of their favourite things to talk about. Ostensibly, Ray would leave Bramblewood for some other position, and Bodie would resume his wandering ways, but in reality, they would meet up in London and run away together. Then, in time, Bodie would sell the estate. Ray couldn't quite see why it couldn't be sold immediately, but Bodie was determined to hang onto the place.

'It would look too conspicuous if I suddenly sold up and left, at the same time _you_ left,' he argued. 'One does not let one's ancestral home go just like that, you know. Trust me, it's better this way. And we don't have to be here, so what does it matter?'

Ray _did_ trust him, and he saw his point, so he dropped the subject. He was happy enough with his current routine, anyway: he would give Arthur his lessons in the mornings, as usual, and in the afternoons, he would apparently go off on his own to read, or paint. Bodie would join him. Often they lay together, but just as often they merely talked, or sat together in silence, just enjoying each other's nearness. It was beautifully easy.

In early October, they decided that Ray was due some leave that _wasn't_ forced on him by the death of a relative, and that he should go and visit some friends. Bodie had some business in town at the same time, so they'd drive to London together, and Ray would travel post from there to his destination. Bodie, of course, had no business, and although Ray did have friends he could visit if he chose, he couldn't quite remember their names at the moment. All that was on his mind was that Bodie knew somewhere in London that was friendly to men of their persuasion, and they could go discreetly and stay there. So under false names, and in shabby clothes, they checked into a dirty, disreputable-looking inn with bedrooms that were decorated like the inside of a brothel: bedrooms with thick, insulated walls, they were assured by the woman who owned the place. The moment the door was closed, Ray did what he'd been promising in suggestive whispers all day. He discarded his clothes, threw Bodie face down onto the bed, and fucked him till he screamed. They spent a week in that room, almost never leaving it. They were surrounded by moans and cries, muffled by the insulated walls but still faintly audible, from other male couples who, like them, were revelling in the freedom to give full voice to their acts. Ray neither knew nor cared how Bodie had found out about the place. But on their last night there, as they lay in afterglow -- spoon-fashion, with Bodie held securely in Ray's arms -- Bodie told him of his own accord.

'You remember me speaking of James Kellar, Arthur's father.'

'Yes.'

'He told me. We never visited here together, but he'd been here with another man. This time I merely had to make some discreet inquiries, make sure the place still existed.'

Ray was silent for a moment, processing this information.

'You and Kellar,' he said finally.

'Me and Kellar,' Bodie answered. 'Yes. What I told you about him at first wasn't quite true. We didn't fall out because we both fell in love with Arthur's mother. We fell out because Arthur's mother and I were in love with the same man.'

'Oh.'

Ray wasn't angry that Bodie hadn't told him the truth. He understood why, and he was in no position to blame Bodie for it, when he had kept a similar secret. What he felt most of all was sympathy.

'So he was your lost love,' he murmured. He held Bodie closer, kissed his hair. 'Ah, Bodie, I'm sorry.'

'It's all right. Water under the bridge now. Anyway, my love for him -- it was a drop in the ocean of what I feel for you. I can regret nothing in my past, Ray. If it weren't for Jimmy's passion for Celeste Mimieux, Arthur would never have been born, and I should never have met you.'

'There is consolation in all things, beloved,' Ray agreed. 'I feel the same way about my past. I am glad that my aunt hated me and sent me away to Pinegrove. It led me to you … and before you, to someone else, whom I shall never regret knowing.'

Bodie had told him the truth about Jimmy. He owed him the knowledge of Henry Chapman's existence. So he held Bodie tightly and told him, including every detail he could remember in his narrative. It was difficult at first, after keeping silent for so long, but once he got started, it was like being healed from the inside out. He'd never been able to discuss Henry so fully with anyone.

'He sounds like a veritable angel,' Bodie remarked: to his credit, without sarcasm.

'He was,' Ray said softly. For the first time since he'd started speaking, he felt the threat of tears, but he did not allow them to fall. When he had collected himself, he added: 'He was too good for this world. Had he lived, we would have loved each other, lain together as you and I have done. I'd have doomed him to hell alongside myself.'

'I wish you didn't still believe that,' Bodie told him, a note of reproach in his voice.

'So do I,' Ray said sadly. 'I hope you realise that it doesn't make what you and I have found any less beautiful to me.'

'No,' Bodie answered, shaking his head. 'It is sublime, not beautiful.' He turned around to face Ray, pressing his forehead against his. 'Beauty can be small and trivial. What we have is colossal. Magnificent. Endless. Terrifying.' He laughed as he spoke the last word, and Ray smiled at him, humour tempering the emotion that had risen in his chest at his lover's earlier words. The way Bodie spoke sometimes showed how long he had yearned for someone to love, and after finding Ray, how long he had yearned to express his passion. Ray revelled in Bodie's speeches, and wished he could think of something to say that would equal them. When he'd said as much to Bodie, however, Bodie had just smiled, and said: 'Never mind, love. It all shows in your eyes.'

* * * * *

When the vacation was over, it was wearisome but necessary to resume their charade. They parted outside the inn and headed for the centre of town. Bodie met his carriage and driver in a respectable location, and they picked Ray up where the post stopped. They had chosen to travel through the night, mainly so they could draw the carriage's curtains without occasioning comment from anyone who happened to pass them. As soon as they were out of London, Bodie looked warmly at Ray, and opened his arms. Ray shifted into them, and they shared their first kiss in hours.

'I'm going to miss you so much,' Bodie said, when they emerged breathlessly from the embrace.

'Miss me? I'm not going anywhere,' said Ray.

'I mean I'll miss sleeping with you,' said Bodie. He smoothed Ray's hair back from his face, and kissed him again, more urgently this time.

'I'll miss that,' Ray admitted. With a mischievous upturning of one corner of his mouth, he added: 'And I'll miss not having to keep quiet.'

'Hmm,' said Bodie. 'Maybe you need some practice.'

His hands went to Ray's neck. Deftly, he untied the brown silk neckcloth that adorned Ray's collar, and fastened it around his mouth.

'Bod-mmmm!' Ray half-heartedly protested, as Bodie pulled the cloth tight, then proceeded to open Ray's shirt. He slid his hands inside, tweaking Ray's nipples until they hardened. Ray moaned through his gag, breathing in sharply through his nose. Bodie pushed the shirt aside, and Ray had his left nipple taken by lips, tongue and teeth. Bodie opened Ray's breeches and stroked his cock into full arousal. Ray tried to say something, but it came out as a wordless growl.

'Suck it,' he repeated, and that time it was intelligible. Bodie looked up from his chest and grinned. Ray pushed his head down into his lap. At the first touch of Bodie's tongue on him, he thrust his hips upwards, trying to get as much of his straining organ into his lover's mouth as possible. Bodie, well-practised by now, did not gag. He pushed Ray's hips back to the seat, and lowered his head, taking Ray halfway in, beginning gradually to go further ... until the carriage went over a bump, driving Ray's cock hard into the back of Bodie's throat. Silently, Ray gave Bodie the credit of genius that he never came into contact with teeth. They both emitted muffled moans at once, Ray's one of intense pleasure and Bodie's probably one of surprise and discomfort. But Bodie recovered a second later, and sucked Ray to a quick but intense orgasm, seemingly all the better because they were rushing along at speed.

When Bodie took his seat beside Ray again, he was smiling.

'My turn,' he said sweetly, not bothering to untie Ray's gag, since Ray had already started doing that himself.

'Right,' said Ray, running the smooth length of fabric through his fingers. 'I can go one better than you though.'

'Oh? How's that?'

Ray took down the lantern that swung on a hook in the ceiling of the carriage. Bodie followed his movements with his eyes. When Ray used his cravat to tie Bodie's hands together at the wrists, then looped the material over the lantern hook, Bodie simply smiled serenely. Since he was tall, with long arms, and the carriage roof was quite low, he could still sit in relative comfort. His smile turned to a brazen grin when Ray removed _his_ cravat and gagged him with it. Then Ray undid his breeches and dragged them down, watching appreciatively as Bodie's cock sprang up, rigid, against his stomach. Ray parted Bodie's thighs and knelt between them. Bodie moaned a little in anticipation.

'Ssh,' Ray scolded him teasingly.

He began by licking lightly around the head of Bodie's cock, lapping up the drops of fluid that leaked from the slit, enjoying the bittersweet taste. Then, holding Bodie's hips firmly to stop him thrusting upwards, he took in just the tip, tonguing Bodie's most sensitive areas. As his lover's moans increased in intensity, Ray stopped, and straightened up to look at him. Bodie made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat, and gazed desperately at Ray, willing him silently to keep going. Ray couldn't stop the full, sweet smile that spread across his face.

'Beautiful,' he mouthed, and lowered his head again, this time concentrating on Bodie's balls. He heard Bodie's hissing intake of breath above him. He continued for some time, alternating between light flicks of his tongue and gentle, careful sucking. Bodie's moans rose in pitch. Ray could tell he wasn't going to last much longer. He slid his hands under Bodie, grasping his firm buttocks, and lifted him up, spreading him, angling his body outwards from the seat. Bodie grunted as his arms strained in the uncomfortable position. Ray ducked further down, sliding his tongue over and around Bodie's opening. Even through the gag, the sound Bodie made was considerable; the lantern hook swung and creaked as his whole body shuddered convulsively with pleasure. Ray chuckled, then continued to rim his lover, finally slipping his tongue a little way inside. Bodie was trying to speak, but Ray couldn't understand him. He sounded like he was begging for something. Ray could guess what, but as much as he'd have loved to bury himself in Bodie, his cock wasn't hard again yet. Well, Bodie could have the next best thing.

He stopped what he was doing, and looked up into Bodie's sweat-sheened face. He raised two fingers and slid them slowly into his mouth, then out again. Bodie groaned deep in his throat at the sight.

 _Deep in his throat,_ yes, that was the thing.

Ray pushed first one finger, then the other, roughly into Bodie's arse. Bodie howled behind the gag. Ray probed with knowing fingers, and at the same time, he lowered his head over Bodie's cock, sucking him all the way in, rubbing his tongue back and forth across the underside of the glans as it travelled deeper into his throat. The muscles in Bodie's arse spasmed suddenly around his fingers, and Ray swallowed hard as Bodie's seed surged into his gullet. When it was over, Bodie's whole body was quivering with the intensity of his release. Ray's fingers were quick and deft as they divested Bodie of his bonds, replaced the lantern on its hook, and tucked Bodie back into his clothes. Ray sat down beside his lover, leaning against the carriage wall, stretching out his legs on the padded seat and hauling Bodie between them, hugging him from behind. Bodie turned his head sideways for a kiss that Ray all-too-happily gave.

'Was that satisfactory, beautiful?' he asked, when Bodie finally let him up for air.

'It might have been the most wondrous thing I have ever experienced,' Bodie replied, 'save when you're inside me, or I'm inside you. Then I feel like we're one person. But I've never come off so hard as you made me just then.' He shook his head and smiled, excitement in his eyes. 'Never.'

'How did you like being trussed up? You seemed to like it, or I'd have let you go.'

'It is good for a man to surrender control to one he trusts above all others.'

Ray kissed him for that. There, the conversation ended, for they were both exhausted from their exertions. They slept for hours in each other's arms, so caught up in the bliss of being able to cuddle together in private for what might be the last time for weeks, if not months, that they didn't even mind when they got deeper into the country and the road worsened. They were jarred, yet happy and rested, when they reached Bramblewood in pre-dawn light.

'When we get out of this carriage, Ray,' Bodie said dismally, 'we are master and schoolmaster again.'

'Not in here,' Ray replied, laying his hand flat against Bodie's heart. Bodie took the hand and kissed it, gave Ray a huge smile -- and then, suddenly, he was an upright English gentleman again, the lord of the manor returning home from a spell in town on business. He stepped out of the carriage with all the dignity of the country squire he was. Ray followed him, and smiled at the welcome they both received from Mrs Harrison and the servants. He told the housekeeper his friends were well and that he'd had a most agreeable time in Brighton (where he'd supposedly been staying). Mrs Harrison said she was sure the sea air agreed with Ray, because he looked much happier and healthier than usual. It took all his willpower to resist exchanging a grin with Bodie; they'd been holed up in a filthy inn, under a blanket of London fog, for a week. The only thing that agreed with them was each other.

Ray spent time with Arthur that day, testing him on what he remembered from his previous lessons. Bodie shut himself in his library, claiming he had some important papers to go through. Perhaps he had. At dinner time, Bodie announced to the servants that Mr Doyle would in all likelihood be a gentleman in a month or so, and they were going to eat together as friends from now on. They sat at the table, painting fictional versions for each other of what they'd been doing over the last few days, and pretending to confide things that they'd known about each other for ages, all for the moments when a servant came in, or the possibility that some of the staff might eavesdrop. Ray talked about the vengeful streak he'd had in his childhood, and how he still thought sometimes about getting back at Parker. Bodie talked about his motivation for joining the army: money, he said, because the army was how younger sons made their way in the world. Save all the glory for the newspapers and the history books. Ray told Bodie how glad he was that he'd stayed a teacher instead of joining the police.

'Because if you think about it,' he said, 'they're just hiring thugs to combat thugs, aren't they? There wouldn't have been any difference between what I did and what the villains did.'

He didn't add what he'd added the first time he'd told Bodie this: 'if I'd joined the police I wouldn't have met you, would I?' He didn't need to say it; Bodie knew, and he told Ray more with his eyes during that conversation than he rambled over in words.

That night, Ray felt very lonely as he got ready for bed. He lay there for a long time, unable to sleep. Finally, he sat up, lit his candle and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was two in the morning. Hours too late for a good night's sleep, and hours before he'd get to see Bodie. Ray sighed and buried his face in the pillow, willing himself not to go and visit his lover, reminding himself what he'd be risking. It wasn't long after that, however, when there was a soft knock at his door.

'Who is it?' he whispered.

''S me,' Bodie's sleepy voice murmured in reply.

'Come in,' Ray said in a low voice. He grinned in delight as the door opened and Bodie hastily came through it, candle in hand. Ray knelt on his bed and spread his arms wide. Bodie, dressed in a nightshirt and a dressing gown, practically leapt into them, luckily remembering to set the candle down on a flat surface before he did so.

'God, Ray, I couldn't stand it any longer,' he whispered, his arms tightly around Ray, hands clinging, face buried in Ray's hair. 'I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep unless I saw you.'

'I needed you just as much. I was on the brink of coming to you myself.'

'Of course you were,' said Bodie. Ray loved the certainty in his voice.

'Come to bed, Bodie.'

Ray gently eased them both down onto the mattress. Snuggling together under the blankets, they began to kiss and touch each other, bringing each other slowly and quietly to the edge. To save the sheets, they took it in turns to come in each other's mouths. Ray had to hold a pillow over his face to keep from crying out. Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms until Bodie's candle was almost burnt out.

'One day soon,' Bodie whispered, as he hugged Ray goodnight. He didn't need to elaborate. Then the door clicked quietly shut behind him, and Ray took himself back to bed.

He wasn't sure how long he slept before his door opened again. He was a light sleeper, so the small sound woke him easily. He didn't open his eyes. He'd pretend to be asleep, see what lengths Bodie would go to to wake him. He couldn't stop a slight smile from stealing over his face as the bed dipped down, and a pair of legs straddled him. Even with his eyes closed he could feel how close the other person was. There was an odour he hadn't noticed before: an unwashed smell. Ray was surprised he hadn't noticed it when Bodie was there earlier. Then he heard an exhalation, and the smell of the breath was rank. Startled, he opened his eyes.

Ray gasped.

The figure above him was female, a stranger, a hideous spectre of a woman. In the pre-dawn light he saw long, scraggly hair, half-obscuring a face streaked with grime that leered at him, wearing an expression of such hatred that Ray would have been frightened even if one of the woman's hands hadn't been holding a knife … a knife which she now brought swiftly down towards his face.


	18. Chapter 18

Ray gave a yell and rolled violently sideways. The knife plunged into the pillow where his head had just been. The woman went for him again, this time with fingernails and teeth. Ray managed to throw her off before she could injure him, just as his door burst open and Bodie ran in with a pistol in one hand and a lantern in the other.

'Ray!' he cried out, his voice panicked.

'I'm fine,' Ray told him, although his heart was pounding so violently in his chest that he wondered if he might be close to hysteria. He saw Bodie's gaze turn to the woman, and he shivered when he saw the look they exchanged. Whatever the relationship between them was, they clearly detested each other.

He didn't have time to wonder who the woman was, because she suddenly let out a blood-curdling shriek and leapt at Bodie, knocking the pistol from his hand. They struggled together, and Ray was on the point of going to Bodie's aid, but then Bodie shoved her backwards onto the bed and gave her a hard but controlled slap across the face.

'Adulterer!' she spat. 'Unnatural demon swine!'

'Shut up!' Bodie retorted, his voice a growl in the back of his throat. He shook her violently by the shoulders, but rather than being pacified, or seeming hurt or afraid, she burst into hysterical laughter.

'What _is_ going on here?'

It was Mrs Harrison, entering the room with a tentative tread, yet somehow displaying determination and force. She started when she saw the woman, who was still sitting there laughing at Bodie.

That laugh!

Ray stared at her, suddenly realising -- _she_ was the owner of the voice he'd heard over and over again in the attics! _She_ was mad enough and filled with enough hatred to try and burn Bodie to death in his bed, to attack Richard Mason … she, and not Mary Waters. Bodie had lied to him. Why? Who _was_ this woman?

'Fetch Mrs Waters immediately,' Bodie ordered the housekeeper before she could speak. Mrs Harrison nodded, wide-eyed, and retreated.

'You,' Bodie said to the woman. His voice was low, and had a menacing quality to it that Ray had never heard from him before. 'What are you doing here? What has this man ever done to you?'

'He … is … your … lover!' Her reply was a taunting hiss, and followed by another bout of laughter. 'I saw you coming out of this room. I know you went to him.'

'He is my friend,' said Bodie. 'He is Arthur's tutor. You remember Arthur?'

'Arthur, your bastard son.'

 _'Not_ my son,' Bodie said firmly.

'But a bastard anyway,' she replied.

'Be quiet,' Bodie admonished her. He leaned forward, looming over the woman, eyes burning with intensity, so Ray couldn't blame her for shrinking back, the violence gone out of her.

'Now you listen to me, my lovely,' he said, stroking her jawline with one finger in an intimidating parody of a caress. 'For eight years I have kept you here, sparing you from the asylum. I swore an oath to look after you, and that I will do. But if you touch Ray again -- if anything untoward happens to him at your hands -- I will not merely send you away. I will kill you. Very slowly. Do you understand?'

She didn't have a chance to reply; nor did Ray -- touched at Bodie's protectiveness, but shocked at the menace in his manner -- have a chance to voice his complaint at how Bodie was treating her. His bedroom door opened again, and Mrs Harrison returned with Mary Waters. She had a straitjacket with her. When the woman caught sight of it she attempted to attack Bodie again, but Bodie grabbed her ruthlessly and with Mrs Waters' help, forced her into the restraining garment.

'If she gets out on your watch again, you will be dismissed, do I make myself clear?' Bodie addressed the servant. She replied with a nod and a sullen: 'Yes sir.'

'Good,' said Bodie. He nodded again, and Mary Waters marched the mad woman, whose head was now bowed in resentful but decided submission, from the room.

'Can I offer you some tea, sir?' Mrs Harrison asked.

'Um -- not just now, thank you, Mrs Harrison,' Bodie replied. He sounded weak and exhausted suddenly. Ray, sitting on the edge of his bed, wanted the housekeeper to leave so he could comfort his lover.

'Why would she attack Mr Doyle?' Mrs Harrison asked, glancing at Ray.

'She had got out of her room again,' Bodie explained. 'I woke in the dark with a problem on my mind that I had discussed with Mr Doyle while we were travelling home from London. I felt I could not rest until I had discussed this new aspect with him, so I went to his room. We talked for a while, then I left, and she must have been hiding nearby and seen me. She jumped to the conclusion that I had visited Mr Doyle for clandestine purposes, and she attacked him out of jealousy.'

How easily the lie came to Bodie's lips. Little wonder: he had lied easily enough to Ray.

'Good heavens,' Mrs Harrison murmured. 'Is there no level of debased thought to which her mind will not sink?'

'I fear not,' said Bodie. 'Please leave us, Mrs Harrison. I believe I owe Mr Doyle an explanation of why his sleep was disturbed a second time tonight.'

'Very well, sir,' said Mrs Harrison. 'I'll be in my parlour if you want me.'

Once she'd left, Bodie pulled back the bedroom curtains and joined Ray on the edge of the bed. They sat in silence for a long moment, watching the sun climbing over the tops of the trees. Ray was wracking his brains, trying to think of a way to broach the subject of Bodie keeping a mad woman in his attic and not seeing fit to inform his friend and lover of the fact. The words _'Who is she?'_ simply wouldn't come. Not when Bodie was sitting so close, so their shoulders were touching, and Ray could feel him periodically shivering.

But somewhere inside, a voice was talking: _He didn't tell you. He didn't trust you._

Maybe it was that thought, simmering under the surface, that stopped Ray from putting his arm around Bodie and trying to draw him out, when he was so clearly distressed, and so clearly trying not to appear so. But equally, because the thought _hadn't_ properly surfaced, Ray didn't shake Bodie off when he finally gave in, let his head drop to Ray's shoulder, and began to cry silently. Eight years' worth of grief, Ray surmised. The anger and fear, the burden of secrecy, had tortured Bodie; that much had been clear to Ray even before nothing else was, ever since the night of the fire when Bodie had momentarily lost control and thrown himself into Ray's arms. Ray hadn't known what he was comforting him about then, and he hadn't known that Bodie loved him. It was easier now, even with that doubt, that poisonous little voice residing deep inside his head.

 _He didn't trust you._

Ray held Bodie, supporting him against his shoulder while he cried. He was beginning to feel betrayed, but his sympathy for Bodie was stronger. He stroked his back and told him he loved him, that it was going to be all right …

 _But it's not,_ said the voice.

Finally, Bodie raised his head, and sniffed, and wiped his eyes. Then he cuddled close to Ray again.

'Ah, Ray, what would I do without you?'

 _He'll find out soon enough,_ said the voice. Two hours ago, Ray could not even have contemplated leaving Bodie. Now it seemed his inner self was taking it for granted that he would. Somewhere deep down, Ray had already made his decision.

 _Can't have love without trust,_ he thought. _And if Bodie doesn't trust me, how can I trust him? Jesus, I could have died tonight. I had no idea there was such danger in the house, and it's his fault … oh, God, the house._ That's _why he can't sell it immediately. He has to keep_ her _here! He's bound to her somehow! He's …_

Adulterer. She'd called him … adulterer.

'Bodie!' he asked, in a quiet, harsh voice. 'Who in the name of Almighty God _was_ that woman? What is she to you that you must look after her?'

But he already knew. He just needed to hear the truth from Bodie's lips.

'That woman,' Bodie replied bitterly, 'is Katherine Bodie. My wife.'

Ray didn't answer out loud. His eyes demanded that Bodie tell him everything. Bodie sighed his acquiescence.

'When Jimmy betrayed me with Celeste Mimieux, I went through hell,' he began. 'I was broken-hearted. But I tried to carry on in Paris. It was my home, or at least I had made it so. I retained some attachment to the place until Jimmy died. Then I felt like I had nothing left to live for. Shortly after that my brother died, and as you know, my father summoned me back to England. But it was not only to take on estate duties in preparation for my inheritance, as I led you to believe. My father also wished me to marry. He arranged my marriage to the daughter of a business associate of his. That daughter's name was Miss Kathie Mason.

'Kathie was pretty, and seemed agreeable, and as I had no existing attachments and thought I never would again, I consented to the match. What I didn't see then was that all possible efforts were being put in to ensure that Kathie and I didn't spend too much time together. Hell, I had never been through a proper courtship before; I didn't know what was supposed to happen! I was young and naive, miserable and distracted. It wasn't until after the marriage that I discovered the long history of insanity in the Mason family, and the growing degeneration of my new wife's mind. I sought an annulment, but it was not granted, as the marriage had already been consummated.

'Within two years Kathie was completely mad. She is abusive, violent, as you yourself have witnessed, and she has long had designs against me. Yet I have kept her here under my roof, and ensured that she is properly cared for. I have, at least, spared her the indignity and cruelty of an asylum. Not that her brother shows me any gratitude. I believe even he is a little mad, you know, though he seems sane enough in company and can, thus far, conduct himself respectably in matters of business. But I could see the paranoia growing in him last time he visited. He was convinced I was mistreating his sister -- he threatened to kill me even after she attacked him, and I, I saved him, Ray!

'God, it's been hell. I felt trapped in my own house, in my own _life,_ even! Then I met you, and all my feelings changed.' His eyes became pleading, and he drew Ray into his arms, not seeming to notice for the moment that Ray could not make himself respond. 'Oh, Ray -- I know you're angry. You've a right to be. I didn't tell you I was married. I wanted to tell you in my own good time, then she, damn her eyes, had to spoil it all. But believe me, I haven't lied to you about anything else. I love you so much. I need your love, your comfort. Please, Ray, put your arms around me again …'

Ray pulled away.

'You didn't trust me.'

'It wasn't that.'

'Of course that's what it was!' Ray got to his feet. 'You didn't tell me as your employee; I understand that well enough. That you didn't tell me as a new friend would have been forgivable, but as a lover?' He only just remembered to drop his voice for the last part of the sentence. In a harsh whisper, he continued: 'As far as I'm concerned, Bodie, you and I are _married,_ or had you forgotten? Marriage is a partnership between equals, or should be -- it may not often be that way between men and women, but between two men, the idea of any inequality is _absolutely_ insupportable. Yet clearly you do not respect me; you do not trust me; indeed I only have your word for it that you love me!'

'Ray.' Bodie looked up at him from the bed, an expression of utter misery on his face. 'Please tell me you don't believe that.'

Ray looked into his eyes. He felt a rush of emotion at what he saw there, and momentarily had to close his own eyes to shut the sight out, pressing his lips tightly together to stop whatever might come out. He sighed heavily.

'All right,' he said, opening his eyes. 'It's plain that you love me. I was unfair to suggest otherwise. But consider this. Do you think of us as married, Bodie?'

'Of _course_ I do!' Bodie reached for Ray's hand, but Ray stepped back out of reach.

'Then you're a bigamist. How do you think I feel about that?'

'Like hell, I presume, but you're wrong,' said Bodie. Some spark had come back into him. Suddenly animated, he stood up to face Ray, man to man. 'Ray, listen to me. Kathie and I are married by law. You and I are married by God and by love.'

'Did you not make the same vows to her that you made to me?'

'Yes, but they were empty! Devoid of …'

'Yes, I know what empty means, thank you,' Ray snapped. 'That doesn't change the fact that you did not trust me. You lied about who had tried to kill you, you lied about who had attacked Richard Mason, and you lied about why you can't sell this house.'

'I was going to tell you …'

'How do I know that? Good God, man, I could have died tonight! There's a danger in this house I never dreamed of. How can you justify putting your partner at such a risk? Because that's what we'd have to be, Bodie, if we were to stay together. A partnership. That means no secrets. You know everything there is to know about me, yet I would have gone on in ignorance forever -- or until she succeeded in murdering me!'

'No, Ray, that's not true … I _was_ going to tell you! I considered telling you the night we first lay together, but as soon as you kissed me it all just went out of my mind. I didn't even think of Kathie until we started talking about us going away together. Then I just didn't know _how_ to tell you. I was afraid you'd feel betrayed …'

'You were right!' Ray interrupted.

'I know. I know that now. But I _was_ going to tell you, my love. I swear it.'

Bodie's frown deepened as he watched Ray's face. Ray was putting on a look of disbelief that was designed to wither. Deceitful pupils had broken under that stare at Pinegrove. But Bodie just looked angry and hurt.

'You don't believe me!'

'I don't _dis_ believe you,' Ray said coldly, folding his arms.

'You don't trust me!'

'We distrust each other,' Ray replied. 'The difference is, Bodie, _you_ deserve my distrust. I've never done anything to deserve yours.'

Now it was his turn to watch for the other man's reaction. Ray needed to know if Bodie remembered their conversation on the night of their self-ministered wedding, whether he recalled his own words: _'I have your heart, Ray, but without trust you will soon snatch it back again.'_ He stared with stubborn hostility, which nearly crumbled when he saw Bodie remember. He saw the horror creep into his lover's eyes, as it dawned on him what was going to happen.

'Ray …?' Bodie had the look of a little boy as he spoke, and his voice was full of uncertainty.

Ray didn't want it to happen. He wanted to forgive and forget, to cross the space that separated him from Bodie, throw his arms around him and say he was sorry, that he understood, that they could start afresh. But he couldn't make himself do it. Bodie had betrayed him, and in doing so had erected an insuperable barrier between them. There had been so little in Ray's life that he could depend on, but he'd taken a leap of faith with Bodie, and that faith had become absolute. To have it shattered was so painful, and seemed so dreadfully final … all the love in the world couldn't repair it; of that Ray was horribly certain.

'Please leave me,' he said at length. 'I have much to do.'

'Tell me you love me first,' Bodie answered. He was a man on a cliff-face, clawing at tufts of grass that he knew would not take his weight, faced with the inevitability of his own fall.

'Would you believe my answer?' Ray asked.

'Yes I would.'

'Will you leave once I've given it?'

'If you wish it, yes.'

'I do wish it,' said Ray. 'My answer is this. Bodie -- I will _never_ stop loving you.'

He didn't speak his next words: _But I shall leave you nonetheless._ He didn't need to; the tone of his voice spoke them for him. They hung in the air, stretching out with cold fingers to squeeze out life. Bodie looked as if his whole world were crumbling around him. But he didn't plead with Ray, or attempt any excuses. He merely turned on his heel and walked swiftly from the room.


	19. Chapter 19

_Dear Bodie,_

 _You know I am going. You know why it must be. Please do not attempt to find me._

 _Know that I meant the last thing I said to you. Remember me as the man who smiled upon you before he knew the terrible fact that would tear him from you._

 _Before my Henry died, he said to me, "Live, Ray." That is what I am going to do. To love but not to trust is to die a slow death. I am sparing us both that._

 _Live well, beloved._

 _Ray._

Ray had left the note on his chest of drawers, then walked out the front door. Bodie's library, to which he always retreated when brooding, was at the back of the house. No one, least of all him, attempted to stop Ray when he left. He met no one. He walked into the village and set about procuring some transport to London. He had just enough money to pay his fare on a public coach, and to secure lodgings when he reached town. He would seek out his friend, Maurice Richards, and hope he could stay with him until he found some work as a teacher. He wanted to be in London because it was anonymous. If he went to Pinegrove, or to the Kirks in Cornwall, Bodie would be able to track him down easily. Ray had mentioned Richards to Bodie, but only seldom, and since the two men did not write to each other, and not even Ray knew his current address, he was the safest option.

It was ten o'clock at night when Ray arrived in London. He went to the place where he'd stayed when he first came to the city, when he'd hoped to join the police. Luckily, they had a room available. Even more luckily, considering Ray's mood, the last occupant had left an almost-full bottle of gin in a cupboard on the wall above the washstand. Ray drank until he passed out, not wanting to give himself a chance to think about what was happening. He would not break his heart for Bodie. He would not weep for his loss. What was the point? He had chosen to leave. He had followed his principles and safeguarded himself against much worse hurt later on. He couldn't possibly place his heart in Bodie's hands, only to have it trampled on the way almost everyone else had done.

The next day, Ray woke up feeling like his head had swelled to twice its normal size. He staggered outside, breathing in the rank London air, coughing as the miasma assaulted his senses, wondering what terrible diseases the air was carrying, and finding he didn't care all that much. That was bad. He was determined to do what he'd told Bodie to do: _live._

He went to the place where he'd attempted to sign on as a policeman all that time ago. It looked different now: an established police station. But the sergeant at the desk was still the same.

'Excuse me,' said Ray. 'I'm looking for a friend of mine. He joined the police nearly two years ago. I assume he's still with you. His name's Richards.'

'Richards?' The sergeant looked startled. 'Maurice Richards?'

'That's him,' Ray said eagerly. 'Can you tell me ...'

'You're three days too late, sir. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Sergeant Richards was shot on Sunday night.'

* * * * *

Ray's mind was reeling when he left the police station. Richards -- all that energy, that vitality -- dead? He couldn't be! But no man was impervious to cold, hard shot. Richards had been walking a beat in Whitechapel when he was hit, and had died at the nearby London Hospital. No one had seen the gunman; the shot was from a Baker rifle and so could, in theory, have come from several hundred yards away. The police were used to dealing with gun-related crimes, but nothing involving long-range weaponry. They were investigating possible vantage points, based on the entry angle of the shot, but there were, so far, no witnesses, except those who had actually seen Richards fall.

Ray was jumpy as he walked back to his lodgings. Several times, he thought he heard a gun being cocked near him, but could see no one. By the time he reached his room he was feeling irrationally afraid. To his shame, the fear made him want Bodie: the very man who'd failed to protect him when he needed him most …

 _He would have, though, if I hadn't been able to throw Kathie off,_ Ray thought. _Bursting into my room with a gun, looking so ferocious and yet so scared for me, calling my name …_

He blushed to think how badly he'd wanted Bodie then. It was the same part of him that had wanted to dress Bodie in a soldier's uniform and screw him through the floor. The Bodie who was a man of action, who'd given his sweat and blood for God and King George, Ray had never known, but had liked to imagine. Two nights ago he'd caught a glimpse of him. How wonderful it would have been if they could have fought shoulder-to-shoulder in the war … how they could have shared the terror and thrill of battle … how they could have celebrated their survival! And what a difference it could have made, if only Ray had been there and not Jimmy Kellar. Ray wouldn't have betrayed Bodie for some French whore. He'd have stuck with him to the end. If it had been them, together, Bodie wouldn't have returned home at his father's bidding, believing he had nothing else to live for but claim his inheritance. He wouldn't have been broken-hearted and vulnerable to suggestion. He would never have married that bitch Kathie Mason.

It hurt so much that Ray just wanted to go and get drunk again. He drank what remained of the gin, and fell asleep until the late afternoon. He then got up, went out, found a gin palace and drank several rounds there. When a couple of hours had gone by, he became dimly aware of a young woman sitting beside him, talking to him, flirting, trying to sell herself.

 _Why not?_ he thought. He let her lead him to a room on the upper floor. He kept hearing the word 'sixpence,' so he paid her. She pushed him down into a chair, knelt down, and undid his breeches. The next thing he knew, his cock was hardening in her mouth; she was sucking him, rubbing him with her tongue, while she rolled his balls between her fingers, bringing him efficiently to climax. He came hard and fast, with a choked off cry.

'There, love. Have another drink.'

A bottle was pushed into his hand. Ray's head was pounding with a mixture of the drink he'd already ingested, and the intensity of his release. He put the bottle to his lips and drank; the stuff tasted awful. The girl undid the buttons of her dress, revealing a pair of large, shapely breasts. She took the bottle from Ray's hand and poured some of the contents over herself, guiding his head to her right nipple. Ray sucked obediently, too dazed to do anything else. He heard her moan, and felt an echo of her pleasure in his limp cock. When he'd sucked and licked her right breast clean, he moved over to the left one, enjoying what he was doing, and enjoying hearing her voice her pleasure. It was different from what he'd had lately, and his conscience no longer seemed to be getting in the way. Bodie had cured him of that, at least. He could think about what being with a woman was like: not as good as a man, but good all the same.

'Alright sweetheart, that's enough.'

A male voice. Was there a man in the room, then? The voice sounded vaguely familiar, as if he'd last heard it many years ago. But Ray's judgement was off; he was confused; his vision was blurred; he was only just conscious. This wasn't just the effects of gin. What had there been in that bottle?

The answer came in the man's voice: laudanum, and Ray realised he'd spoken his question out loud. Dimly, and seemingly from very far away, he heard the woman laugh. Then he heard the gun cock next to his right ear, and gasped. Panic shocked through him. He'd been duped. Whoever this was, they'd been following him all day …

A male figure moved into his line of vision, and came to stand in front of him. The face was familiar, as was the self-satisfied smirk it wore. Ray tried to stand up, and couldn't. The drug in his system was too strong.

'Preston,' he managed to croak.

'Raymond Doyle, you little son of a bitch. You didn't seriously think I was going to let you and Maurice Richards get away with selling our souls to His Majesty, did you?'

'Is that what you call it?' Ray asked bitterly, his speech slurred by the drink and the opium. 'I'd call it seeing justice done.'

The last thing he saw clearly that night was the pistol travelling swiftly towards his head. Everything that followed was nothing more than a painful blur.

* * * * *

'There! He stirred. Michael! He's coming back to us at last.'

'Thank the Lord. Clara, bring some water.'

Ray heard the voices through a haze, which cleared a little when a cool glass was pressed to his lips, and his head was tipped back to receive a little liquid. He swallowed, and coughed, and opened his eyes.

Through a blur he saw that he was in a narrow bed, in a room he didn't know. Three strangers stood around him: a young man and two women. All were looking at him with kindly concern. Ray stared at them, wondering if he should know them. His memory was so dim. There was a jumble of images and sounds, that hurt his head when he tried to make sense of them. He blinked a few times, which helped his vision to clear.

'Wh-what happened to me?' he managed to croak out.

'I found you unconscious in the street,' the young man told him. He had a smooth, clear, well-spoken voice that was pleasant to listen to. 'I'm a doctor. My home was closer than the hospital and, between you and me, more hygienic. I had just hailed a cab when I noticed you, so I brought you back here with me. You were badly beaten and drugged with laudanum. You had no purse or pocket book on your person, so I assume you were robbed. You have been asleep in our spare bedroom for just over twenty-four hours, but I do not know how long you were on the streets. What do you remember of your attack?'

Ray had a sudden moment of clarity.

 _If I tell him,_ he thought, _it will form a trail from me to Bodie._

'I remember nothing,' he lied.

'Hmm. Perhaps it will come back to you in time. Can you tell me your name, at least?'

'Ray …' he began without thinking '… Duncan.'

'Well, Ray Duncan, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Upton. These two young ladies are my sisters, Clara and Paula.'

'I must thank you for your kindness to me,' said Ray, trying to sit up. Dr Upton pushed him gently back down again.

'There is no need. Rest now. We'll talk further when you're feeling better.'

A moment later, Ray was alone. Weak as he was, and with nothing else to do, he slept.

* * * * *

When he awoke, it was morning, and he felt very hungry, and although not completely free from pain, he felt much improved. He managed to sit up, and looked around for his clothes. They were folded neatly on a nearby chair. Ray pushed back the covers and rose gingerly from bed. So far, so good. He was a little dizzy, and he ached all over, but it was nothing he couldn't handle if he took things slowly. He put his hand to his head and realised there was a bandage there. He couldn't feel any others, so he supposed the head injury must have been the worst. There was a full-length mirror in one corner of the room; he walked over to it and removed the woollen nightshirt he had on. He caught his breath at the sight of his body. Bruises of all shapes and sizes covered him -- yellow, blue, purple, black. It was a wonder nothing was broken or ruptured. Had Preston beaten him and left him for dead? Or had he been stopped before he could finish Ray off? Why had he beaten him at all, when he'd shot Richards from a distance? And why couldn't Ray remember any of it happening? The last thing he remembered was the girl stepping away from him, Preston coming to stand in front of him, and then … but no, nothing after that.

 _Preston ought to be arrested,_ Ray thought. _I should go to the police. But he could be anywhere by now. And my name will be put on record -- if Bodie comes looking for me …_

 _Would it be so bad if he did? We're grown men. We've had time to calm down. We can talk things out rationally. It's not like I couldn't see him again without being tempted back …_

 _But of course I would be. That's just the trouble. Anyway, Bodie probably won't come looking for me. I told him not to. He respected my wishes when I asked him to leave. I could tell by the expression on his face that he knew I was going. He didn't try and stop me._

 _He's probably relieved. He can't have really loved me, or he'd have trusted me with his secret. He probably convinced himself he was in love with me because he saw it as an escape from … from her. He probably realises that now. He won't come looking for me._

 _Preston ought to be arrested. If not for my sake, for Maurice's. He'd hate me for not trying to seek justice for his death. He was so determined I'd help him get Preston and Montgomery because of what happened to Henry and the others. How can I possibly not tell the police what I know, just to avoid the possibility of having to see Bodie again?_

 _But he won't come looking for me anyway, so what does it matter?_

 _God, I wish the thought of him not coming didn't hurt so much. I should be glad to think he doesn't want me. I'm not going back to him. Therefore, I should want him to be happy. And if he loves me, and I've left him, he won't be happy, will he?_

Deep in thought, Ray drifted over to the chair where his clothes were folded, and began to dress. Bending over hurt -- straightening up _after_ bending over hurt worse. Every time he flexed the muscles in his backside … Ray went back to the mirror, pushed his breeches down and stood facing away from it, looking awkwardly over his shoulder to inspect the area in question. It was one of the few places on his body that was completely free from bruising. Strange.

He finished dressing and sat down on the edge of his bed.

'Ouch,' he muttered. Sitting down hurt.

With a grimace, Ray forced himself to stop denying a reality he really hadn't wanted to face. He knew what that ache was. He'd had it the morning after his first night with Bodie, and a couple of times since. It had been easy to ignore then, because he'd been so happy, and besides, it had just brought back good memories. Now, it didn't bring back any memories, but Ray knew what must have happened. Preston had …

A horrible feeling swept through Ray. It was a feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, of being soiled, violated; someone had gone where no one was allowed …

 _No one but Bodie,_ Ray's inner voice cut in. _Bodie was allowed._

 _But I belong to Bodie, and he to me._

There was grief, but more than grief, there was anger. Preston would pay. He'd got fourteen years for fraud. Ray remembered that now. That incident had been just over fourteen years ago, so his sentence must have been up. That was why he was back in England, why he'd turned up now to seek his revenge.

'Let's see how you like the end of a noose,' Ray muttered savagely. There had to be enough evidence to convict Preston of murder.

 _And I'm the principal witness,_ he thought, running his tongue over his lower lip. _If Preston finds out I'm alive, he'll be back like a shot to finish the job._

What, then? Lie low, or go straight to the police? Confide in Dr Upton, admit he'd lied about his name, or wait until he could go back to his lodgings alone? Would it be safe there? Would his possessions be intact? All the more reason to go quickly, but he'd need at least another day before he could walk more than a few paces. If he asked for the doctor's help it could get sorted out sooner, but could he trust a complete stranger, even if he had saved his life?

Ray needed time to think. And he needed something to eat. He'd think better on a full stomach.

Mercifully, a knock came at his door, and Dr Upton entered, carrying a tray. He smiled when he saw Ray up and dressed. He had a nice smile. In fact, in the light of day, with a clearer head, Ray noticed the young doctor properly. He was very good-looking: not in the way Bodie was, but more in the way Henry Chapman had been. Soft-looking, somehow, with big brown eyes that made him look like a sad spaniel, except when he smiled. His smile was friendly and kind. In other circumstances, if his heart hadn't been full of Bodie, Ray could have fallen for this stranger.

'Feeling better this morning?' he asked. He put the tray down on the bed. 'I had Cook rustle you up some breakfast. There's hot buttered toast, some tea, and some porridge. We've got to get you your strength back.'

'Thank you,' said Ray, smiling back at the doctor. 'I'm feeling much stronger this morning. This'll make me ready for anything.'

'Well, don't overdo it. You've had a nasty shock. Have you remembered anything about your attack?'

'Nothing yet,' Ray said. He wasn't yet ready to decide whether or not to confide in the doctor.

'All right. I'll leave you for now. Eat your fill, then rest. If you wish to read, there are some books on the shelf over there. Would you like me to fetch one for you?'

'No thank you, I'll manage,' Ray answered.

'Very well. I must go to the hospital now, but I shall come back and see you when I return this evening. If you want anything, just ring, and someone will come.'

He gestured to a small brass bell on the bedside table. Ray nodded, and thanked Dr Upton again. He smiled his pleasant smile, patted Ray on the shoulder, and with one last admonishment to take things easy, he left the room.


	20. Chapter 20

Ray went to sleep early that night, so he didn't see Dr Upton again until the next morning. Once again he brought Ray his breakfast, once again he examined him, and once again he asked him if he remembered anything about his attack.

'Yes,' said Ray. 'I remember everything now. I dreamed it all last night.'

'So you know that you were violated?' the doctor asked gently.

Ray didn't trust his voice for the moment, so he nodded.

'Take your time,' said Dr Upton. 'But I do advise you to tell me as much as you remember. I shall be able to assist you better if I know all.'

Ray closed his eyes and began to speak.

* * * * *

 _'You disgusting little sodomite. I know what you and Henry Chapman were up to. I saw the way you looked at each other. If everyone else at that bloody school was a simpleton, I was not. Is this how it felt when he fucked you? Yes? Except this is colder and harder, isn't it, Doyle? And if it shoots off inside you, you'd die in agony. Oh, I'd love to shoot your guts out, you bastard. But not yet. There's more to come before I finish you.'_

* * * * *

Preston's voice spoke in Ray's head as he told Dr Upton, with the barest possible details, what had happened to him.

'I knew something of the kind must have occurred,' the doctor confessed, bowing his head. 'I see it all too often in my profession. Mostly women, but men and children too. It's an oft-used weapon, Mr Duncan, and one of the hardest experiences to get over. I am sorry it has been employed against you.'

'So am I,' Ray muttered.

'I expect that's why you lost your memory,' suggested Dr Upton.

'Perhaps,' said Ray.

'So what happened after that?'

'He beat me. I kept hearing the woman laughing. He kicked me in the head a couple of times, and I almost passed out. Then I heard them panic. Someone was coming. Then they bundled me out the window. I would have died, except …' Ray paused, frowning as he collected his memory '… I think there was some sort of cart or carriage. I landed on something soft. I was vaguely aware of moving, quite fast. I could hear men laughing, drunk I think. One of them was playing one of those German things, harmo -- harmony?'

'Oh, a harmonica,' said Dr Upton, with a nod and a smile. 'They're Austrian, I think, not that it matters.'

'Well, one of those, anyway. I remember that, and the rolling of the cartwheels over cobblestones, and they were going faster and faster and I don't think they realised I was there. Then I think they crashed, and I must've hit my head, because I don't remember anything else until I woke up here.'

'There was no evidence of a cart crash where I found you,' said Dr Upton, frowning.

'Well, I don't remember my original attacker robbing me,' said Ray. 'So maybe I was carried off by someone else.'

'They do say that trouble comes in threes,' observed the doctor. 'Were you carrying all the money you had in the world?'

'Not all of it,' said Ray. 'I stashed some in a hidden compartment in my valise. A trick a friend taught me.' He smiled as he remembered John Kirk's most useful piece of advice.

'And where is this valise now?'

'At my lodgings. I shall collect it when I'm well enough to leave. I _feel_ well enough now, Doctor,' he added pointedly. But Dr Upton would have none of it.

'I'd like to keep you here at least for another day. Satisfy myself that your injuries are not worse than I have surmised.'

'But I feel fine ...'

'Why don't you give me the address of your lodgings, Mr Duncan? I could collect your case on your behalf, if you would write a letter of consent.'

'That won't be necessary,' Ray said firmly. 'Let me go. I'll come back here if you want to examine me again, but I really must go for the case myself.'

Dr Upton looked shrewdly at Ray. 'I believe I can guess why. You hesitated before you gave your surname. I noticed it at the time, but didn't really think about it until now. Duncan isn't your real name, is it?'

Ray opened his mouth to deny the charge, but he knew instinctively that he wouldn't be believed. He shook his head.

'Your real name you will not give?' asked the doctor. 'You do realise that it will make it very difficult for me, let alone the police, to assist you, if you persist in this?'

'I realise that,' said Ray. 'But I came to London to get away from someone. He means me no harm, but I do not wish to see him again. The more people who know I'm in town, the easier it would be for him to trace me, if he took it into his head to do so.'

'Who is this man?' asked Dr Upton. His voice was kind and sympathetic. Ray had to fight to keep a straight face. If this young man, who seemed so idealistic, even innocent, knew why Ray wanted to avoid Bodie … but even a smile would be too hard to explain. Expressionless, Ray answered: 'My employer. I worked as a private tutor for the ward of a rich man. We became friends after a while, but we fell out. We did not part well.'

'I beg your pardon, Mr Duncan, but I've never heard of an employer going to any effort to locate an errant worker. He will surely just hire a new tutor.'

'You're probably right,' Ray allowed. It was an eventuality he equally hoped and feared.

'Let me fetch a policeman here,' said Dr Upton. 'He can interview you without you having to get out of bed. You would like to bring your attacker to justice, wouldn't you?'

Ray sighed. 'Yes.'

'And if your employer means you no harm, surely justice is more important than whether or not he locates you in London?'

'True.'

'Then tell me your name,' said Dr Upton.

The insistence in his voice crumbled the last of Ray's resistance.

'Doyle. Raymond Doyle. And you want Sergeant Wilcox, in Whitechapel. He knows something of this affair.'

* * * * *

Ray knew he wouldn't be able to keep his name out of the papers as the hunt for Preston and his accomplice progressed. News of Richards' death, the attack on Ray, and the reasons behind it, spread through the press like wildfire. But Ray heard not so much as a whisper from Bodie. Ray's whereabouts was not made public, but he received a letter from John Kirk, directed through George Wilcox, the desk sergeant in Whitechapel who'd recruited Richards and had worked with him until his death. Wilcox's name had been mentioned in the papers, so he was a natural enough channel for Kirk to choose. It would have been natural for Bodie, too, if he'd wanted to make contact.

Until John's letter came, Ray had coped extremely well with the difficulties he was going through. He was still, essentially, homeless. The Uptons had been extremely kind and hospitable, and Dr Upton -- Michael, as Ray knew him now -- had insisted that Ray stay with them until Preston was found. A police constable watched the house every night. Ray had been feeling increasingly trapped, such that he almost wished that Preston would just turn up and put him out of his misery. But he'd coped. Some inner sense of optimism had kept him going. When he heard from John Kirk, he realised what that optimism was. He'd been assuming that things would work out with Bodie. He couldn't come for Ray now because with the police protection, he wouldn't be able to find him. But when it was all over, Bodie would be able to locate him, and Ray would be able to say what he'd been longing to say since he'd woken up after his attack: 'I forgive you.' Not because he'd had a scare and it had come home to him what his life would be without his lover, but because he really _did_ forgive him. Ray didn't blame himself for his initial reaction to what Bodie had done, but he'd come to understand the situation from Bodie's point of view. He was willing to try and work things out, if only Bodie would make the effort to find him, and thereby prove he still loved him. As far as Ray was concerned, his final words to Bodie, and his note, were proof enough of his own feelings, and it was now Bodie's turn.

As it turned out, Bodie could have contacted Ray if he'd wanted to. And he hadn't.

Ray started to have nightmares.

In the recurring dream, he'd be in the woods with Bodie, as they had been on their first night together. Under the moonlight, they loved each other, making their breathless vows: a memory that Ray still cherished, despite how bitterly their brief unofficial marriage had ended. But then Preston arrived, appearing as if from nowhere, wrenching Ray out of Bodie's arms with disproportionately superior strength. Preston pushed the gun up his arse and fired. Ray died, became a ghost, and had to watch, powerless, while Preston raped Bodie, and Molly Jones looked on, laughing. Except then it wasn't them; the figure who violated Bodie became Richard Mason, and the woman watching was his sister, Bodie's wife, and her laugh was the insane one that Ray knew so horribly well. Bodie, who in real life would have used all his strength to fight back, seemed frozen, helpless, completely in Mason's power. Ray's ghostly self tried to save Bodie, but he couldn't reach him; he screamed and screamed for help, but no sound came out.

Every night, Ray woke in a cold sweat from that nightmare, and could not get back to sleep again. Every day, he grew more and more tired, less and less willing to leave his room.

Three weeks after he was attacked, Molly Jones' body was dredged from the Thames, badly decayed but identifiable from a distinctive piece of jewellery that her friends recognised. She'd been strangled. Preston had obviously decided she was too much of a liability to risk keeping alive. Three weeks after that, however, Preston was arrested in Birmingham. He was brought back to London, tried, and hanged for double murder within the month. Michael certified that Ray was too ill to testify, so the prosecution used a signed statement. Ray felt pathetic for not attending the trial, but Michael hadn't been making excuses for him. He really _was_ too ill. His depression had led to loss of appetite, loss of weight, and susceptibility to sickness. On the day Preston was convicted, Ray had a raging fever, from which Michael's sisters, who nursed him, feared he might not recover. But even if Ray's spirit was ready to give up, Ray's body was more stubborn. He passed through the crisis within forty-eight hours, and Michael announced with relief that he was out of immediate danger.

'But that doesn't mean he won't become ill again,' Ray heard Michael whisper to Clara, while they thought he was asleep. 'Much of his illness is in his mind. Something must be done.'

A week after that, two pieces of good news arrived for Ray. The first was that enquiries into the whereabouts of Charles Patrick Montgomery, Preston's accomplice in the frauds at Pinegrove, had been successful. Montgomery had died of colonial fever in Australia, five years ago. It was unlikely that any further attempts on Ray's life would be carried out. Preston's cousin, who was still teaching at Pinegrove, was being watched carefully by the police, but he swore he bore Ray no ill will: fraud was one thing, but murder quite another, and he didn't seem eager to associate himself with his relative.

What this all meant, of course, was that Ray was no longer under police protection, and was therefore free to do what he wanted. Not that this meant much to Ray, who now rarely left his bed.

The second piece of good news, however, was that John Kirk was on his way to London. Michael had written to John, as the only friend he knew Ray had, that he was worried about the physical and mental health of his charge. Perhaps as his friend, John might be able to talk some sense into him. Accordingly, as faithful and reliable as ever, John arrived at the Uptons' house five days after his letter accepting the invitation had been put into Ray's hands. His presence was balm to Ray's fading spirit.

'You must get well and get on with the rest of your life,' he urged. 'I know what happened to you was dreadful. But those responsible have paid for it with their lives. They can't possibly hurt you again. You're a survivor, Ray; you always have been. Don't let this defeat you.'

Ray agreed with his friend's words. They buoyed him up enough to start eating properly again, to get up, get himself fit, and begin to wonder what he was going to do with the rest of his life. But though they were right in principle, they were wrong in substance. It wasn't the attack that was depressing Ray. It was losing Bodie. And the fact that his nightmares hadn't stopped. It was just that now, Preston and Molly Jones weren't in them anymore. Richard and Kathie were there from beginning to end.

The sole threat? Ray wondered about that sometimes. But neither Masons nor Bodies were his affair now. It was time to let bygones be bygones, to accept that Bodie was beyond redemption, and that he, Ray, had a whole other life to lead. Talking to John helped him to realise that, despite the fact that he couldn't tell him what had happened between him and his employer.

It hardly mattered. Between the two of them, they still managed to thrash out a solution. Ray would become a proper teacher again.

* * * * *

Ray spent Christmas in Cornwall, with John and his family. Their small house was a little more luxurious than most country teachers could enjoy, but the small private income Morwenna got from her father allowed for some niceties. The couple had been blessed with a little girl, Rossina, and a boy, Jeremy. Morwenna was heavily pregnant with their third child -- yet still managing the household almost single-handedly. John was as besotted with her as ever. Ray felt happy despite himself, knowing that someone else's life was working out as it should, that sometimes love _did_ conquer all. He looked at Morwenna, glowing with vitality, and thought how beautiful a pregnant woman was. Perhaps someday he would meet a woman he could love, and set a life growing inside her. Ray had been a good teacher, and hoped to be again when he found a position. He thought fatherhood would probably suit him. It was nice to imagine an older version of himself, surrounded by a family. Such a fantasy held no pain for him. If he thought about love in a more direct way it still hurt. Every time he was forced to admit to himself that his heart still belonged to Bodie, despite months of knowing Bodie no longer cared for him, Ray had to bite back a need to weep.

On New Year's Eve, however, Ray was as cheerful as any of the Kirks' guests, and they certainly had a houseful that night. No one thought anything of the knock at the door that came at about nine-thirty. A few more revellers were due, including two brothers who worked in one of the local mines, and had promised to bring a barrel of French wine that they'd 'found' on the beach recently. Ray answered the door with a cheerful grin, and was surprised to find not the Wherry brothers and their black market barrel, but a smallish, solemn-looking man in conservative middle-class attire, carrying a lawyer's briefcase under one arm.

'Good evening,' he said, in a distinctive Scottish burr. 'I am looking for Mr Raymond Doyle.'

'You have found him,' Ray replied, sticking out his hand. 'Happy new year, Mr, er …'

'Cowley. George Cowley. Solicitor. May I come in?'

'Of course … but I don't understand …'

'You will understand everything in due course, Mr Doyle. Is there somewhere quiet we can go to talk?'

'I'm afraid the house is veritably bursting with people, Mr Cowley. I shall just ask my host if I might use his room.'

John Kirk's house was small, as befitted a country teacher's salary, but he did have a little study of his own, just off the parlour. The revellers were all gathered in the kitchen, so there were a couple of good granite walls between the party and the more private meeting in which Ray was now involved.

'Sit down, Mr Cowley,' he said, waving the Scotsman towards an easy chair, and going to poke the fire. Mr Cowley, however, took a seat behind John's desk, opened his briefcase, and began to spread out papers across the surface. Ray sat down opposite the desk, and immediately got the feeling of being interviewed, as if Mr Cowley were the host and he the guest -- or as if Mr Cowley were a headmaster and Ray an errant schoolboy. For a solicitor, the man had a powerful presence. Ray felt half amused, half intimidated. He managed to keep both emotions off his face.

'I appreciate you taking the time away from the festivities to see me,' said Mr Cowley. 'I have just arrived from London; I am staying at the coaching inn about a mile inland.'

'Oh yes, I passed it on the way here,' Ray said lamely. He was useless at making light conversation. He wished people would just get on with the matter in hand. Fortunately, Mr Cowley did just that.

'I expect you're wondering why I'm here, and how I knew _you_ were here,' he said. 'The answer to the latter question is the simplest, so I shall begin there. I have, of course, read in the newspapers of your recent exploits, and so assumed that the police would know of your whereabouts. I discovered your London address with the aid of a Sergeant Wilcox. Your host in London, Dr Upton, gave me your address here. Naturally, I presented them with due credentials, or they would not have been obliged to help me. I am happy to do the same for you.'

'That's quite all right, Mr Cowley,' said Ray. He didn't add that he'd been carrying a loaded pistol under his coat since he'd been well enough to go out, and felt considerably safer as a result.

'Now, as to _why_ I am here. Before I sought you out in London, I went first to Bramblewood Hall, where I …'

'Bramblewood?'

'Where I believe you were living until just over two months ago,' Mr Cowley went on smoothly, ignoring Ray's sharp interjection. 'From which address you wrote just over _four_ months ago to your uncle, Mr Edmund Doyle, in in India.'

'That's correct, sir,' said Ray. 'I had just discovered my uncle's existence. You see …'

'Yes, I am aware of the circumstances, Mr Doyle,' Mr Cowley cut him off briskly. 'I am sorry to have to tell you that your uncle died on the twentieth of October. His heart had been troubling him for some time, I understand. He had received your letter, and was aware of the mistake resulting from his dealings with your late aunt, Mrs Phillips. He replied to your letter on the fifth of October, but having missed the overland mail that month, the letter was not received at Bramblewood until the fifteenth of December. Your employer, Mr Bodie, did not know where to find you, as you had not left him a forwarding address, so he attempted to contact your uncle through the India Office. Since Mr Doyle's death, however, all correspondence has been redirected to my office in London -- I was your uncle's legal advisor, you see.'

'I see,' said Ray. 'So -- Mr Bodie _has_ been looking for me, then.'

'You seem to have been close to your former employer,' observed Mr Cowley.

'What makes you say that?' Ray asked, unable to help being defensive.

'He was quite unaccountably anxious about you,' the lawyer replied. 'He fairly demanded to know whether I had seen you, and what you were doing, and whether you had asked me to give him any sort of message. I asked him if he'd read the papers; he said he hadn't bothered to look at a newspaper since the summer.'

'So he didn't know what had happened to me?'

Ray was very glad, at that moment, that he was sitting down. His knees felt weak, and something odd was happening inside his chest. He saw Mr Cowley shake his head.

'Did you tell him?' he asked, too eagerly. 'What did he say?'

'I shall tell you what I told him, Mr Doyle, and that is that I am the late Mr Edmund Doyle's solicitor, not a messenger boy, and I do not intend to begin in that albeit necessary and, I daresay, noble occupation, by relaying correspondence between the two of you,' Mr Cowley said sternly. 'I had amongst my papers relative to you and your uncle a copy of a newspaper article that gave an account of the Preston trial. I gave this article to Mr Bodie to read; he reacted with appalling language and a great deal of miscellaneous bluster. He seemed to think that what happened to you was his fault; I assume you left his house as the result of a row?'

'Er, yes, sir,' said Ray.

'Thank you for that information. I could get no straight answer out of him. I told him that you were a grown man and that where you chose to live and work was your own affair. He called me a fastidious old goat and told me to mind my own business.'

'Yes, sir.' Ray tried not to smile. Mr Cowley was obviously doing the same.

'Getting nothing sensible out of Mr Bodie, I told him of the death of your uncle, and that I was going to seek you out. He asked me to tell him where you were, and I told him I would do no such thing.'

'Thank you, Mr Cowley,' said Ray. 'But I cannot think Mr Bodie alone is the cause of your visit.'

 _I'm going to write to him,_ he thought. _The moment I get back to London. I won't go back to that house, but maybe he'll come to town and see me. We can talk things over._

'Pardon, sir?' He flushed; Mr Cowley had been speaking, and he hadn't been listening.

'I _said,_ your uncle made certain alterations to his will,' repeated Mr Cowley, very much on his dignity. 'He made you his sole heir. You have inherited a lucrative estate in India …'

 _I wonder if Bodie would consider emigrating to India?_

'… what I understand is a flourishing business …'

 _He could leave that wife of his in the care of the servants at Bramblewood. Or he could hand her over to her mad brother; he seems anxious enough about her wellbeing._

'… thousand pounds.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Mr Doyle, I am starting to get the impression that you care nothing for money. Are you that stupid?'

'Of course I care for money,' Ray said impatiently. 'I've just got a lot on my mind, that's all.'

 _On second thoughts, India wouldn't be any good. It may be far away, but it's still governed by British law._

'… fifty thousand pounds in the funds, Mr Doyle.'

'Fifty thousand?' Ray repeated.

 _We could live somewhere in Europe. Somewhere without that archaic law. We could buy a vineyard in France ..._

'That is correct, Mr Doyle. Once the appropriate papers are signed, you will have immediate access to that money. As of that point, you are a rich man.'

'That is a most agreeable turn of events, Mr Cowley,' said Ray, feeling rather dazed. 'I confess I hardly know what to say.'

'Och, laddie, just sign the papers, and leave the talking to me. That is, if you wish to employ my services, as your uncle did.'

'Indeed, sir, you seem to have served him well.'

'I have done my best, Mr Doyle,' said Mr Cowley. 'Now, the estate in India …'

'Oh, um … I shan't wish to continue it on. I have no desire to live in India. Can it be sold without my having to travel there?'

'I can handle the entire business myself,' said Mr Cowley. 'Rest assured I shall secure you a fair price.'

'I'm sure you shall,' Ray said, somewhat dismissively. As far as he was concerned, being fifty thousand pounds richer made anything else seem negligible.

 _Too many details,_ he thought. _I need to talk to Bodie._

'I have brought the letter from your uncle,' said Mr Cowley, handing Ray a sealed envelope. 'Now, if you have no further questions, I shall return to my lodgings. I shall prepare the papers for your signature and bring them over to you at -- shall we say noon tomorrow?'

'That would be ideal, sir,' said Ray. 'But don't feel you have to leave. Stay and see in the new year with us.'

'Well,' said Mr Cowley. 'That is very kind of you, I'm sure -- I wonder, does your host keep any whiskey?'

'I'm afraid not, sir,' said Ray.

'Then if it's all the same to you, I shall return to the inn, where I'm told they serve a damned good malt scotch. I'm partial to a wee drop of the stuff, especially at New Year.'

'As you wish,' said Ray with a grin. 'I'll see you out.'

'Until tomorrow, then,' said Mr Cowley, when they had reached the front door. Tucking his briefcase under his arm, the lawyer dodged the rather chaotic arrival of the Wherry brothers, and what Ray surmised, from their gait, was no longer a full barrel of wine. Mr Cowley tipped his hat to Ray and walked off down the street.


	21. Chapter 21

Perhaps it was the change of scene, but during his sojourn in Cornwall, Ray was untroubled by nightmares. The letter from his uncle explained about the changes to the will, and said that during his lifetime, Ray would be afforded a generous allowance. He was to contact Mr Cowley -- 'who, I assure you, my dear nephew, is eminently trustworthy; he has dealt with my family's affairs for years' -- for further details of the arrangement. Edmund Doyle had also invited Ray to spend some time with him in India. Ray knew he wouldn't have gone. He felt sad at the thought of losing a relative he hadn't known he had until it was too late. He was overwhelmed at his sudden change in fortune. What would he do with fifty thousand pounds? Of course, there would be plenty to do, if only he could have Bodie. But despite his hopes having been raised considerably by Mr Cowley's account of Bodie's behaviour, and the knowledge that Bodie hadn't heard about his attack until it was too late for him to seek Ray out, he knew that it was by no means guaranteed that Bodie would forgive him for the row and for walking out. Besides, even Ray still had his doubts. He knew, now he'd had months to think about it, that it wasn't a lack of trust that had stopped Bodie telling him about Kathie. But his faith in Bodie had still been horribly shaken. He needed to see his lover -- his _former_ lover, he amended sadly -- before he could be sure of his feelings.

Ray wrote to Bodie from Cornwall, just a few lines to say that Mr Cowley had found him, what his address was in London, and that he'd like to talk things over. Trying not to expect too much, he returned to London on the sixth of January. There was no letter for Ray, but the Uptons greeted him enthusiastically and, because Ray had written to Michael of his change in fortune, with heartfelt congratulations. Ray assured Michael of a generous donation to his hospital. He also planned to make a donation to the London, where Richards had died, and to Pinegrove.

'Don't spend all your money on others!' Michael admonished him good-naturedly that evening, when they were comfortably installed in the study with black coffee and glasses of port. 'You'll be a rich man all your life if you're sensible, Ray, but richer men than you have died poor because they couldn't keep their purses shut.'

'Oh, don't you worry, Doctor, I shall be an old miser within the year,' Ray replied. 'But tomorrow night, I intend to take you and your sisters out for an absurdly luxurious evening in the West End, so you'd better get your best frock out of mothballs.'

'Damned impudence!' Michael cried, chasing Ray out of the room.

* * * * *

When Ray and the Uptons got home from their outing, which was characterised with such ridiculous overindulgence that Ray thought he'd never need to eat or drink again, he fell into bed without bothering to change out of his evening clothes. An excellent time had been had by all, which translated to returning home utterly exhausted at two in the morning, sleeping late the next day, and probably waking up with blinding headaches and painful stomach cramps. But there was no sleeping late for Ray. He had his old nightmare again, except this time it seemed ten times as brutal and frightening. Perhaps it was the wine he'd consumed earlier, affecting his self-control, but he woke crying, and didn't feel in the least ashamed of it. He muttered Bodie's name into his pillow as he wept, and longed for the day when he would hear from him. Then maybe these terrible dreams would stop.

A few hours later, Ray received the reply he'd been waiting for. His heart pounded in his ears when the Uptons' maid handed it over at the breakfast table, at which nothing was being consumed but coffee, and lots of it. Michael, Clara and Paula were hardly in a state to remark upon Ray's rapid departure from the dining room; indeed, they probably thought he was going off to be sick somewhere. Ignoring his aching head, Ray took the stairs two at a time and hurried into his room, throwing himself down on his bed and eagerly tearing open the letter.

 _Dearest Ray,_

 _I hope you don't mind such an ardent beginning, but it's the truth, and you might as well have it now. Nothing has changed as far as I'm concerned. I'm pleased that Mr Cowley managed to locate you -- are you a rich man now, then? Not that it matters a jot to me. If you wrote to me from a workhouse I'd come and fetch you away._

 _I understand from the wording of your letter that you don't wish to return to Bramblewood. Very well, I shall come to you in London. Let me know when will be convenient and if you will be changing addresses before I arrive. You will be pleased at my politeness I'm sure, but I confess that if I didn't have Mason arriving for a visit on Saturday afternoon, I'd probably be packing up to come to you unannounced._

 _Don't infer from the above that I expect anything from you. I just want to see you, to talk, to settle things once and for all between us. I hope at least that we may recover our friendship._

 _Yours ever,  
Bodie._

The letter lay open on the bed while Ray stuffed things haphazardly into his case. He only just remembered to pick it up and put it in his pocket -- he didn't want the Uptons or their servants discovering its contents. He clattered down the stairs, dumped the case in the hall, and rushed into the dining room.

'Excuse me!' he said breathlessly. 'I'm sorry to make so much noise when you're all feeling so ill. I've just received an urgent letter and I must leave. I'm not sure how long for. I shall write when I am at leisure, but I must go now.'

'But, Ray …' Michael began, but his expression changed when he saw Ray's face.

'Of course you must go,' he relented. 'And good luck to you.'

'Thanks,' said Ray. 'Goodbye.'

* * * * *

Two hours later, Ray was sitting in a public coach, half-crushed in the corner next to two overlarge gentlemen. He was heading for Bramblewood, and he was trying not to panic.

'Damn it, can't this thing go any faster?' he muttered.

He had no real reason to be rushing off like this. It was instinct. The arrival of Mason at Bramblewood seemed like all his worst nightmares about to come true. He reminded himself that whether Mason really was dangerous or not, he owed Bodie a visit after his frank declaration. _Nothing has changed,_ he'd written. Well, that wasn't strictly true for Ray, but he wasn't going to let his feelings about Kathie get in the way of spending the rest of his life with the man he loved. Deserved or not, he'd tortured Bodie long enough. It was time for resolution now.

As the sun began to disappear over the horizon, Ray -- now trying to avoid being dribbled upon by one of the overlarge gentlemen, who was snoring loudly -- began to feel genuinely afraid. Mason would be there by now. Bodie wouldn't be expecting violence. He'd be caught off guard. All right, maybe he wouldn't be helpless like he was in the nightmare … unless Mason got him tied up somehow. Perhaps that was what Ray's dream was trying to tell him. Trying to breathe normally, he fingered the gun under his coat.

 _I feel like a knight, riding on a white horse to the rescue of my lady love,_ he thought. _Except that I'm not a knight, I'm in a slow stinking post coach with two fat men and a woman with three children, none of the horses are white, and the person I'm going to rescue is an ex-soldier who's probably more capable of defending himself than I am, and what's more, probably isn't in any danger anyway._

It was just gone midnight when the coach pulled into the village. Ray jumped out, took his case from the roof, and set off on foot, travelling the familiar route. His memory brought him irresistibly back to the moment when he'd first met Bodie. It had been a clear night like this. It hadn't been a good beginning. But it could be a good end. The best of endings. The happiest …

As Ray came within sight of the house, he suddenly felt very cold. His case dropped to the ground unheeded, and he broke into a run. The old hall was in flames. There _had_ been danger -- just not the kind of danger he'd imagined. It had to be Kathie; she must have escaped again, and this time succeeded in setting the place alight, in an attempt to kill her brother as well as her husband. But surely the household would have escaped. Surely Bodie would …

Ray tore across the grounds, almost crying with relief when he saw the throng gathered outside. At least some of the servants had got out. He saw the stable boys coming around the side of the house with buckets they'd obviously filled from the outdoor pump. Mrs Harrison was standing in between two of the parlourmaids, wringing her hands. As Ray arrived, old Nathaniel rode past on a horse, probably going to the village for help. Ray ran straight to the housekeeper.

'Mrs Harrison!'

'Why -- Mr Doyle, what in heaven's name …'

'Never mind me, where's Bodie? Where's Arthur? Where's Mason?'

'I'm here!' Arthur cried out. He was near the back of the crowd, being looked after by his French nurse. He tried to run to Ray, but the nurse stopped him. Ray managed a weak smile and a wave for his one-time pupil before he turned on Mrs Harrison again.

'Where's ...'

It was Mary Waters who answered Ray. She had been behind Mrs Harrison, but she now stepped forward, weeping, trying to quell her sobs with a large handkerchief.

'Mrs Bodie got out, Mr Doyle. It was Mr Mason; he made me let her out. He had a gun. He seemed to think he was rescuing her. Now she's got herself trapped in there, and her brother and Mr Bodie are trying to help her. Nathaniel helped Mr Bodie out but he insisted on going back for them!'

With a wail, she dissolved into tears again. Ray started to run towards the house.

'Mr Doyle, don't,' pleaded Mrs Harrison, catching him by the arm. 'We must pray they make it out, but you can't put yourself at …'

But Ray was gone. Catching up with one of the stable boys, who was returning with another bucket, he wrested it from his hands and emptied it over himself.

'Mr Doyle, what are you …'

'Good, now fetch another!' Ray told him. 'You!' he hailed the other boy. 'Give that to me.'

He took the bucket of water and ran, as fast as he could without upsetting his cargo, into the house. The fire must have started upstairs; the flames hadn't reached the ground floor yet, but he could see an eerie glow at the top of the main staircase. He knew that his soaking wet hair and clothes would give him some protection. He hoped it would be enough for him to find Bodie. With the first stable boy hot on his heels with a fresh bucket of water, Ray climbed the stairs. Immediately, he felt the heat of the fire. One corridor, the one that led to the back bedrooms -- including Bodie's -- was a mass of flame, completely blocked.

'Bodie!' he yelled over the roar of the flames. 'BODIE!'

There was no answer. Ray took the other corridor, the one that looped around to the west wing, and the front bedrooms that were only used for guests. The bucket of water was starting to feel very heavy, but Ray feared he'd need it if he found Bodie trapped in flames. He struggled along with it, heading for the stairs that led up to the third floor, where the schoolroom was, then the attics. There was a way into the east wing from there. He threw open the door and only just kept hold of the bucket; he had nearly run straight into an inferno. By the looks of it, the west wing wasn't going to stay intact for long. The door to the east wing had been burnt through, and the back staircase was starting to burn. The fire was making its way downstairs. Ray yelled for Bodie once more, but he received no answer. The fire was spreading, backing him towards the stairs. He could go down, and save himself, or he could go up, and keep searching. Ray went up.

He was halfway up the staircase when he heard the scream. It was a woman's voice, terrified. Then he heard another voice, male, yell: 'KATHIE!' Relieved at any sign of life, Ray abandoned the bucket at the top of the stairs and ran flat out down what he always called the schoolroom corridor. Most of the rooms, whose doors were normally kept shut, were open, and their contents aflame. Desperate to contain the blaze any way he could, even temporarily, Ray pulled each door shut as he ran past. He felt a pang of sadness when he saw his beloved schoolroom burning, but he knew better than to try and save any of the books. He shut the door on that room, the same as all the others.

Rounding a corner, he saw Richard Mason running, obviously following his sister. He didn't notice Ray, and was out of sight within seconds. He must have come up the front staircase, which was now impassable. Ray had no choice but to break into a run as the flames snaked towards him. When he rounded the next corner, running in the direction of the attic stairs and the servants' quarters, he heard Mason scream, but he couldn't see him. Then he saw the burning torch abandoned on the floor. It was consuming the carpet, creating a wall of flame. Kathie must have been on this floor, setting things alight, then started to panic and dropped it. Trusting his wet clothes, and cursing himself for abandoning the bucket, Ray took a flying leap through the flames. He came through scorched, but not alight, and he didn't even stumble. He crashed through the door to the servants' quarters, slamming it hard behind him. Mason was there, whimpering in pain as with his coat, he pounded out flames that were consuming his breeches.

'Mason! Are you all right!'

Mason stared.

'You!' he said in astonishment. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'Where's your sister? Where's Bodie?'

'I don't know,' he moaned. 'I was chasing after Kathie when my clothes caught fire. I didn't see which way she …'

He stopped talking when he heard another scream from Kathie, and a man yelling her name. Bodie, yelling her name.

'Oh God -- Bodie!'

Ray took off in the direction of the voices, pounding down the narrow main corridor of the servants' quarters.

'Kathie, come back, you're going the wrong way!'

Then Ray saw her. She was running, barefoot, along the corridor towards him, hair streaming out behind her. The bottom of her nightdress was scorched, but she looked uninjured. She stopped short when she saw Ray, coming to an almost comically sudden halt. But she didn't look relieved at the sight of him. Her eyes blazed with a hatred as hot in its way as the flames that threatened to take them all. With a hideous shriek, she came at Ray before he knew what was happening. She crashed into him with her full weight, and they both fell through a door into one of the servants' rooms. Ray hit his head hard on the bare floorboards. His vision blurred, the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Kathie disappearing into the corridor, shutting the door behind her. The last thing he heard was her laugh.

* * * * *

Ray came to, feeling very hot. He jolted upright, momentarily disoriented. Then he remembered. He was at Bramblewood. Kathie had attacked him -- knocked him out. The house was on fire. Bodie and Mason were still inside somewhere -- or they had been.

Bodie.

Ray struggled to his feet. He could see a glow through the cracks of the door. He was still wet through -- he had to try, at least, to escape, to help Bodie. He opened the door to a roaring and crackling of flames, and a wall of heat and smoke that nearly knocked him over. But the fire hadn't completely consumed the corridor yet. Some of the doors further up were burning, but Ray still had a clear run to the servants' staircase. Unless the fire was creeping up from the other direction.

'Richard!'

Ray heard Bodie's voice, coming from below, as he reached the top of the stairs. He ran down, and caught his breath in horror at the sight below him.

Bodie was standing partway along the landing that led from the servants' staircase to the second floor bedrooms. Behind him were creeping flames. In front of him, standing at the foot of the stairs with his back to Ray, was Richard Mason. He had a pistol in his hand, and it was pointing straight at Bodie. Without another thought, Ray drew out his own gun.

'You killed her!' Mason sobbed. 'You killed her!'

'No,' Bodie answered, his voice pleading. 'She jumped, Richard. I was trying to help her. Believe me, I was trying to save her! Why else would I have come back?'

'You didn't want the fire to finish her! You wanted to do it yourself! You've been trying to kill her for years! I'll have you, Bodie! You're dead!'

'Mason, for God's sake! Have me arrested when we get out if you want to. But if you keep us here much longer we're _both_ dead!'

'Wrong, Bodie,' Mason said maliciously. ' _Just you._ '

'Mason!' Ray yelled. 'Drop it!'

Mason whirled around.

'Ray!' Bodie cried out in horror.

'Don't move!' Mason warned. 'Or I'll shoot him!'

Ray pulled the trigger of his pistol. Nothing happened.

'Ha!' Mason yelled. 'Damp powder! Shouldn't have taken a bath before you arrived! You're dead, Doyle.'

'NO!'

Bodie's shout only distracted Mason for a second, but it was enough for Ray to duck. Mason's gun went off, but the shot went into the wall next to where Ray's head had just been. Then Bodie went for Mason, who struggled away and took off down the stairs at a run. With a glance at each other, Ray and Bodie followed him. Bodie shoved Ray in front of him as they ran. Ray prayed that the fire hadn't consumed the whole ground floor yet, or that the stable boys and Nathaniel's villagers had managed to put out enough of the flames. There was no way of knowing until they got there.

They were catching up with Mason. He was careering down the stairs, heading for the ground floor, and the last section of the wooden staircase was burning. Mason ran across the little wooden platform that joined the two flights of stairs, then started downwards. There was a dreadful creaking sound; then Mason screamed as the staircase collapsed under his weight. Bodie grabbed Ray from behind, only just stopping him from being carried over the edge by his own momentum. Mason was lying on the flagstones at the bottom of the staircase, unconscious or dead, and his body was burning. The sickening smell of scorched flesh and hair reached Ray's nostrils, mingling with the acrid smoke.

'Oh God,' Ray half-sobbed.

'Come on, we can jump,' Bodie said briskly. He turned Ray around and shoved him across the small landing towards the banister rail. They were about fifteen feet above the ground. The once-sturdy wooden structure was starting to creak ominously under two men's weight.

'Better a turned ankle or even a broken one than what happened to him. Jump, Ray!'

Ray didn't think twice. He vaulted over the rail, hung in mid-air for a moment, then dropped to the floor. Bodie followed him. Then he was shoving Ray forward again, and Ray forgot to look where they were going. He realised it then: he trusted Bodie with his life. How could he ever have doubted him? He knew they were going to be all right. He knew it before Bodie pushed him through a side door, out into blessed fresh air.

They _were_ all right.

The next thing Ray knew, he was being hugged, hard. Bodie was holding him, clinging to him, pressing their shaking bodies so tightly together that there wasn't an inch of air anywhere between them. Once he'd fully realised that, he hugged back. They were alone, at the back of the house. There was no one to witness their reunion.

Once Ray had fully realised _that,_ he pulled away, grabbed Bodie's head in both his hands, and took his mouth in a fierce, insistent kiss. Bodie moaned into his mouth and wrapped his arms around him again. Behind them, glass smashed as the fire took more and more of the house, forcing its way out through the windows, but neither of them noticed. The only reason they stopped kissing was because Ray had a sudden coughing fit.

'It's the smoke,' Bodie said sympathetically. 'Come on, let's get you a drink of water.'

'Bodie,' Ray croaked, refusing to allow Bodie to lead him away.

'What?'

'Love you.'

'Oh, for God's sake!' Bodie hugged him again, kissing the side of his neck over and over. 'I know, you idiot. That's why you came for me. You could have been killed!'

'But I wasn't. And nor were you.'

'Thanks to you.' Bodie's voice was muffled by Ray's shoulder. 'Did I say I love you too?'

'Didn't need to.'

'Don't care.'

'Good.'

Ray held onto Bodie in silence for a moment, then added: 'I knew you needed me. I just knew it.'

'I _did_ need you,' Bodie replied. 'You saved my life.'

'You'd've done the same for me,' Ray said confidently, as he melted further into the close embrace. 'Anyway, you saved me back there, with Mason, yelling the way you did.'

'Perhaps. But I reckon I owe you one.'

'One down, eight to go.'

'What?' Bodie laughed and pulled back to look confusedly into Ray's face.

'You know. Cats -- nine lives?'

'Oh. Well if that's the case, it's two down _seven_ to go, at the very least.'

Ray laughed, and kissed him again.


	22. Epilogue

The Masons were dead, and Bramblewood was beyond repair. Bodie had no desire to start building again, so he sold the estate. He got considerably less for it than he would have done if the house were intact, but it was enough -- especially factoring in Ray's fortune -- to allow the pair of them to start afresh. Although it was not Bramblewood they departed from, they still carried out their plan, meeting covertly in London, then running away together to Europe. Ray had his first grand tour, and Bodie his happiest. Eventually, they settled in France, where custom forced discretion, but no law would prosecute them if anyone found out they loved each other. They lived well, though not as excessively as they might have done. Wanting privacy, they employed no servants, only paying a woman from the nearest village to clean for them twice a week. Their house, therefore, was small by necessity. It was also far enough from other dwellings that they only had to keep their voices down when Arthur came to spend his vacations with them. It didn't take him long to figure out why his old tutor was living with his guardian, but when he did, he looked at how happy they both were and decided it was best not to judge.

Ray never regretted leaving England, and he never had cause to doubt Bodie again -- unless you counted culinary skill, on nights when it was Bodie's turn to cook. But between Ray's ability to produce edible meals, and Bodie's uncanny ability, not shared by his curly-headed partner, to know when they were out of food and needed to visit the markets, they managed to eat and drink regularly and with alacrity. As for being merry, they had that down to a fine art within a few months, and both were more than happy to practise regularly. Ray even managed to get Bodie into a British redcoat's uniform one night, and if he frightened him half to death by ripping the trousers open with the point of a sword, he more than made up for it afterwards.

But, reader, he did _not_ marry him. Officially, of course, it was impossible. Unofficially, they counted themselves as married from the night they'd first lain together in the woods around Bramblewood Hall. It was enough for the men in question, and their opinions were the only ones that mattered to them.

In their way, besides, they were as married as any normal, legally bound couple. For they were happier together than many, and more in love than most.

\- THE END -


End file.
